


We're Not Broken, We're Living Life

by Zodiac_Attack



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Depression/Anxiety, M/M, Major Character Injury, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 68,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2594717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zodiac_Attack/pseuds/Zodiac_Attack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well it's hard for kids like us to grow up.  Our nostalgia comforts us, the world’s so dangerous out there." </p><p>A Work in Progress, a collegeAU where two people who had a hard time growing up make every day count, never look down upon themselves, and forge a future were they can be happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You’re eight years old when you stop wearing skirts.

There is something about them you don’t like. You didn’t notice it at first, but the more you look at them, the more you see they don’t really fit you. They are strange and you don’t like the way they look on your body when you stand in front of the mirror. Most girls wear them, but some have leggings or shorts or jeans; you like those much more. 

You spend your summers with your grandfather, who says nothing when you stop putting on skirts, says nothing when you try on more pants and loose shirts, less dresses and skirts. He buys the little you ask him to and offers to buy much you don’t. You’re grateful.

Your mother poses a question or two, and still insists you wear your new blue dress to the neighborhood BBQ. She places bright ribbons in your hair and tries to coax you into more skirts for school. You wear one twice a week to please her.

You hate it.

\----

You’re eleven years old when you start to dislike the word “she”. 

You almost cringe when you hear it from your classmates, _she_ likes to read. I’m Cathy, and _her_ name is Felicia. The teacher splits you into teams one day based on gender and you feel so out of place standing with all the girls. 

You ask your mom about feeling… wrong. She brushes it off as a growing child-like thing, telling you you’ll feel better in time. Something inside you doesn’t agree with her. 

When your grandfather visits for Christmas, he brings you more books to read, not gifts, but loans from your own personal library. You ask him what you asked your mother, and he said it’s normal to feel lost, everyone does. He tells you it’s important to find out what you feel is right for you on the inside.

You like his answer more than your mother’s. 

\----

You’re twelve years old when you come to terms with what’s wrong. 

You’re looking in the mirror, your soft cheeks, long red hair, every feminine aspect of you, you don’t like it. You open your mouth and whisper a word, only to snap it shut again. You’re not fond of your voice either.

Over the summer, you tell your grandfather you don’t feel like a girl and you hate your body. He tells you he knows and silently promises to be there for you. He asks about your name and you cringe. It’s so girly, _Felicia,_ you truly don’t like it, but you have no replacement. He suggests you write your last name on papers for school and says he’ll talk to your teachers. He calls you “Junior” while waiting for you to find something you like. You don’t like it that much, but it is far better than Felicia. 

You don’t mention it to your mother.

\----

You’re thirteen years old when you start binding your chest. 

The tissue is soft and rounding and it makes you so uncomfortable to see it on your body. You spend most of the school year wrapped in ace bandages and PE is your worst enemy. No one at school notices the pain you’re in, but they stopped calling you Felicia, only using your last name in conversations. It’s odd and somewhat formal, but you can’t help but notice how much you prefer it, how much you like it. 

Your mother looks at your chest and calls you a late bloomer. She complains that if you don’t fill out, you’ll never get a boyfriend or be able to wear her wedding dress, _Felicia_. You want to throw up. At one point, you ask her about genders and people who don’t fit in their bodies. She rolls her eyes and your heart breaks. You try to forget everything she says because every word is a knife across your skin. 

At summer, your grandfather calls you stupid for using bandages and buys you a binder. He gives you books on the topics you ask about and doesn’t makes you go out and swim or even leave the house. You leave your bag packed, strictly living off the clothes he’s bought you over the years. When he asks you if you’ve spoken to your mother your eyes hit the floor. You tell him she wouldn’t understand and he agrees, but there is a determined look in his eyes.

For that summer, you feel human.

\----

You’re fourteen years old when you shatter the bathroom mirror.

You were brushing your hair, that much is true (and so annoying, so much hair, you hate it hate it hate it), when you saw yourself in the mirror. You tend to avoid them out of principle, you don’t often like what you see in their piercing gaze. You were standing there, post shower, unbound, unclothed, with everything you loathed on clear display. You were shocked for a moment, almost in complete denial, that body standing there could not possibly be yours, could it? Panic consumes you, horror locking onto your face, you throw your brush with all your might and the image is gone. 

You tell your mother it was an accident, you say you were pulling a knot from your hair and the brush flew out of your hand, breaking the mirror. She laughs and says she never though mirrors could be broken so easily. You laugh with her, for the same reason. 

Your mother goes out, saying she’ll order a replacement tomorrow. You call your grandfather and tell him what happened. You tell him you were in disbelieve how your body looked and he stops you, telling you that if you did not want it to be, that body was not yours. He says with your permission, he will look into various treatments and have a file ready for you to look out come summer. 

You nearly scream with joy. 

\----

You’re fifteen years old when you viscously tear scissors through your hair.

You stand before the mirror and scowl at your waist long red hair, fiery and alive, a horrid beast to tame. You are no girl, and you do not wish to deal with it anymore. Girls must have long hair, your mother had told you growing up, and even that statement was false; you don’t hesitate when you grab the scissors and a lock of hair. It’s painless. You imagine each lock as a rope holding you up, maybe if you cut them all, you can be free.

Your mother finds you in the bathroom surrounded by long red hair, crying and smiling as you cut the last long piece away. She screams at you, asking what the hell you think you’re doing. You scream back, telling her to shut up. Everything you should have said before comes out in a furious tumble of words. She looks disgusted and hits you. You feel disgusting. And satisfied. And afraid. 

You call your grandfather. He comes to your house and argues with your mother for hours. She screams something like “take her” and your grandfather agrees to take _him_. Months of custody issues come into play, but you legally move to your grandfather’s house. 

Your grandpa tells you you can have a new life. 

\----

You finish packing up your room at your moms house quickly, and she doesn’t look at you when you leave. You both don’t say a word. You wonder if you’ll miss her at all, or if she’ll miss you. 

In the car, your grandfather tells you he’s made some calls and you can start all the steps and treatments when ever you like. You tell him as soon as possible. It’s a slow process, and you are done with living a lie, with being someone you’re not. Only with your mother were you still considered a girl. He asks about school and you fall quite, you never told anyone you weren’t female, they just adjusted over time to see you as something else. He offers to homeschool you as long as you promise to go to college. You eagerly agree. 

\----

While unpacking your boxes, moving into your new home, you find your old French text book. The cover holds a picture of a smiling girl with a speech bubble, the phrase there stands out. _C’est la vie!_ That’s life. A word: _La vie_. Life. You rip the e from the end, finding it too feminine for your tastes, and read it without a mock French accent. Lavi. You like how it feels on your tongue. “Lavi.” You print the new name in sharpie on your arm, bolding it over where you had “Bookman” on your belongings. It fit you. A new life, a new name. “Lavi.”

You whisper “Bye Felicia” and can’t help but laugh when you cross out that name in thick black ink. You were not happy before, but you have a new life now. And you cannot wait to live it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to personally apologize to everyone who read this because I used the name Felicia just to make that joke at the end. If your name is Felicia, I am sorry and mean nothing by it but I find that quote from Friday way too funny.
> 
> That aside, thank you for reading! I will try to post more soon, and more tags and characters will be added as they become relevant. Also, the writing style will most likely alter slightly in future chapters.
> 
> Lyrics in the summary taken from Jason Iscariot's "Trying Too Hard" which you should totally listen to on bandcamp


	2. Chapter 2

You’re nineteen years old when you apply to college. 

You send out five applications and fret about each one, worrying you won’t make it in to any school and you’ll be a failure all your life. Your grandfather smacks you on the head, scolding you for thinking so lowly of yourself. You were always smart, and all your grades and tests were wonderful.

“Yeah, but most people go to college when they’re like eighteen, and I’ll be twenty. I’m going to be that awkwardly-just-a-bit-older then everyone else guy!” 

“You would not have wanted it any other way.”

You sigh in agreement, only a few months ago had you completed your transition. You still were in a mild shock (mainly drowned out by happiness) every time you saw your bare body in the mirror, so different, so _you_. For the first time since you could remember, you feel great in your body, great in your skin. You don’t even mind the routine things you need to do, or all the paper work you had to fill out, you’ve never been happier to be yourself. 

You didn’t want to start college half way through the transition, you didn’t want confusion or any emergency things to take you from class, so you waited. Being two years older wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things anyway, you reason, rolling a pencil around your desk. Plus you had spent those years reading and studying anything you could get your hands on, and you could get your hands on a lot, working the city library and helping your grandfather with his collections. You know a lot of things, especially historical things and random facts (you kinda spent way too much time on the internet or reading) (and you could so win any trivia game show you could be on). 

Your grandfather never insisted, or expected, for you to go out and make friends, but you were social by nature. You chatted with people around town when you went out, but you never really became close with anyone. You hope college will change that. You really want to meet people and be able to call them friends.

\----

It’s two in the morning and you’re scribbling down your thoughts in a notebook (one of many, all prior being filled with words in every color). This one, like the others, has no meaning, rhyme, or rhythm, it is just a collection of thoughts that circle around your head. Tonights’ selection are phrases of fear, statements of your mind and questions you answer for yourself. 

_I’m scared about the future and want to talk to you / it shouldn’t matter if people know, they shouldn’t care / then why am I sill so afraid? / mother / did she give me this fear? / does she even know who I am? / no / she never did / and i don’t think she ever will / she never cared too / I need Friends / I’ve really only had my mother grandfather and therapist in my life, I need to meet people, I need to see how they will act_

With a sigh morphing into a yawn, you pull yourself away from the desk and crawl into your bed. You can feel your heart beat beat beating in your chest and it occurs to you that at one point in your life, you would have denied the beating thing. You would have denied your very life, being trapped in a prison with a blind warden. 

You once wished you could forget those days, lock them away and play them off as some form of a bad dream, but as much as they hurt, those memories defined who you are today. Forgetting something unpleasant is not _living_ , it is masquerading, living in a glass world of lies… you can see the desire to create a perfect world, but to turn a blind eye to everything you don’t like about the world? That screams madness. Especially to someone who never forgets anything.

You curl into the wall, turning on RainyMood to lull you to sleep, and to help slow down your slightly fast heart rate. The rain always made you relax, perhaps it was the steady sound, or the fresh smell it brought with it, or the very idea of rain: something that washes away dirty things, cleaning the world… 

You laugh lightly, closing your eyes. _Not everything needs to be symbolic, Lavi. Maybe you just like the rain_.

\----

You get accepted into three of the five school you applied to, so student debt becomes your only limiting factor. 

You’re lucky (and forever grateful) your grandfather was willing to pay for all your treatments, but his eyes told you more than his words you need to live on your own. He did not raise you to be dependent on him, and you did not expect his generosity of your fragile youth to carry on forever, in fact he was only truly giving in the things that allowed you to define yourself as male, everything else was normal. He expected high grades and studying, which you gave him easily, and taught you important standards and life lessons.

You would never want to disappoint him, and you have no intention to, so you pick the school with the best history program that won’t put you into a thousand years of debt (plus it has a well known liberal campus and nice freshman housing). You still have the rest of spring and summer before you have to go, but you can’t help but feel the excitement and nervousness about leaving the comfort of your grandfather’s house. 

Living on your own, in the real world, with a roommate. Although, you could choose to live alone, you casted aside that option first, you are determined to live the college life to the fullest. You don’t expect it to be like movies from the last decade, but you do expect it to be like an experience you’ve never had.

\----

The nights following your acceptance letters comes in three phases. 

The first phase is when your grandfather is still out, you blast music and dance around the house to your favorite songs. You speak aloud to yourself and saying happy poetry-esk lines trying to convey how you feel. 

You’ve often done this before when you were alone, feeling the pulsing beats of a song and pouring out your soul to no one’s ears but your own. It was at these times you could see yourself in a deep forrest or on a tall mountain or a warm sandy beach, and in your mind you were always the person you wished to be. These feelings of sudden bliss helped you get through some of your worst days as a child and a torn up teenager. And it makes you smile fondly to feel this joy and anything-is-possible feeling again.

The second phase is when your grandfather comes home, your music is off and you’re sitting in the living room reading a book about a man who must solve the secrets and puzzles passed down through the centuries. As you hear the door unlock, you replace your bookmark between the thin pages and meet your grandfather in the front room with your news.

“I got another acceptance letter, grandfather.” 

“As expected. From where?”

“The University of the Arc, but I’m looking more at Black Order University.”

“They’re both good schools that would be lucky to have you, and you would be lucky to attend.”

You like your grandfather’s almost cold support, his tone never suggests it, but you know he cares about you. No matter what he says, in your eyes he saved you, so you know he cares. 

He takes you out for dinner, what ever you like. You pick the Italian Restaurant _Zafferano_ , and your grandfather makes a comment about making new memories at new places. You brush it off and tell him you love the bread sticks here, but every good thing in your life you’ve celebrated in the same place. Moving in with your grandfather, getting approval from your therapist, starting treatments, legally changing your name and gender, after you were released from the hospital, and now getting accepted into college. You should find a new place for new memories, but until then, you like having something stable in your life you can always return to and feel good about life. 

The third phase is when you’re at home, laying in your bed in the dark, staring into nothing, thinking about everything. 

You think about the casual conversation you had over the meal and a flash of sadness hits you when you realize you are going to miss it, having dinner and nice conversations with your grandfather about history or just the day in general. You’ll miss it, but you’re ready, or at least that is what you tell yourself. You’re ready to meet new people, make new memories, and find new things to do every day. 

You know you’re ready, you’ve been ready for years, but you won’t deny that somewhere deep inside you is anxious. You don’t like not knowing things, and this is something completely unknown to you, so you tell yourself your anxiety is valid and focus on breathing slowly. Somewhere in the back of your mind a voice tries whispering the truth of your fear, something that only haunts your subconscious, something you’ve forcefully abandoned for years, _It’s because you’re not normal_. You drown out that voice with the sound of thunder storms.

\----

You get the information about your roommate a few months prior to school starting. You spend a few days wondering what to say, if you should contact him or wait for him to contact you. After a week of silence, and brooding over the same question night after night, you decide to e-mail him. You keep it brief, introducing yourself, saying who you are, what you’re studying and other college related topics. You do not mention anything else.

A few days later, your first e-mail from your soon-to-be-roommate makes it clear he asked for a single room and got denied, so you were roommates our of force. You almost laugh as you read the pain text with an even plainer message _I don’t want to talk to you, and we’re going to share a room, that’s it. With any luck, I can move out at the semester mark_. 

You’re kind of disappointed, but you try not to mind too much. You make a mental note to respect his privacy and another to tell yourself not to ask why he asked for a single room. 

But your eyes flick over his message again, and again. Around the ninth time you read it, you realize you’re treating it like a novel for school, breaking down his word choice and writing style to dig deeper into _why_. You’re curious now, and you know curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, so you e-mail him back saying how you understand, and you’ll try your best to respect his wishes, and a dozen or so more lines of meaningless text. 

You fully realize you’re being completely obnoxious, and probably a little rude, but you’ve waited two years to go to college and you are not going to let a sour roommate ruin it for you. Also, who knows what you could learn about Mr. _Kanda_ by pushing the right buttons? Sometimes frustration is the easiest way for the truth to come out, you know that from experience, a memory of shouting and long strands of red hair on the floor.

After proofreading the e-mail you laugh and click send, hoping for, but not expecting, a reply. That night you fall asleep without the sound of rain to keep you company, and you don’t stay up late turning over moral questions in your head. You sleep from ten to ten, the most amount of sleep you’ve gotten since you began college applications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for the positive feed back!
> 
> Hopefully I will be able to post a new chapter every one-two weeks, and if you're reading for Laven, I promise it's coming. Most likely not until chapter 4 or 5, but it's coming. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading, and I hope you like this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Yu Kanda is nothing like you imagined, aside from the constant expression of annoyance. You were not expecting long hair in a high pony tail or, what many people would call, a pretty face. Okay, you guess you would call him pretty too. 

“You look just as annoying as I expected.” 

And then he opens his mouth and you can do nothing but laugh. 

“Well, I can honestly say that is one of the greatest introductory comments I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing.” 

He makes an annoyed breathy _tsk_ sound and you try to stifle your laughter because sure you’ve read about people making that sound and seen it in movies, but you had no idea people actually _did_ it in real life. 

“Okay, I’ll admit that probably wasn’t my finest moment, but after staring at your e-mail for over an hour it became physically impossible for me not to say anything.”

He still doesn’t say anything, but he turns away from you and walks over to one of the beds, and you can tell this is how it’s going to be. You’re going to consider him a friend, and he’s going to try his best to ignore you. 

To say the least, you’re a little upset. Yu’s one of the few people you’ve gotten the chance to meet in the last five years, and he’s so stand offish. He’s really nothing like what you thought you would get from a roommate. But maybe that’s what you get from living through your books for years? A sense that maybe you could find a happy ending too? 

_No. Stop it._

You shake your head furiously, as if you were trying to force these poisonous thoughts out of your mind. 

_Stop thinking down on yourself._

You sigh and lay down, angry you had to correct your thoughts again.

\----

“What are your pronouns?”

“What?”

“You know, how should I refer to you?”

“Kanda. That’s all.”

“No one’s ever asked you about your pronouns, huh?”

“Does anyone?”

“I find it’s nicer than asking someone what gender they identify as. People should do it more.”

“Maybe you could change the world.”  
 “Maybe I could!”

“Keep dreaming.”

“You didn’t answer my question Yu-”   
“Don’t call me that.”

“‘Kay, my bad. But really, he, they, ze, xe, ey, work with me here.”

“I’ve never even heard of those last view.”

“That’s ‘cause society is dumb. If you answer, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day.”

“He is fine.”

“Was that so hard?”

“Am I supposed to ask you now in exchange, or something?”

“Yes! And he is perfect. Now, to keep my promise, I’m going to the library. See you later”

“Whatever.”

\---

You love college.

You love every minute of it, even the hours you spend in the biology room fighting the urge not to smack that one brunette on the head every time she says science is more important than history. Even the hours you spend trying to have a conversation with Kanda only to be ignored or threatened. Even the hours you spend studying for tests and writing papers, you love college. 

You love talking to people and learning about them. A few days ago, you spoke to woman while helping her gather up her fallen text books and since then you seam to always find her in some state of disaster. Apparently she’d been afraid to come to school for years because she was so clumsy, but had finally decided to gain a higher education. In your english literature class you talked to a man from Romania, he moved here to go to college with his girlfriend, a stunning blonde woman whom he met online. 

There are so many people and so many things going on at all times, it was so hard not to just become lost and absorbed into the world around you. You found your mind constantly wondering, zoning out and focusing on other people’s conversations instead of the book you were reading or the notes you were reviewing. Sometimes you would just sit in the court yard, back against a tree, eyes closed, and listen to the conversations around you.

“I can not believe that Donna asked him out.” 

“Have you seen him though? He is so good looking it’s not fair.” 

“Did you remember to get food yesterday?”

“Kyle, your mom was calling me yesterday! You need to talk to her.” 

“I’ve never seen someone so mad before. I really thought he was going to blow a gasket and murder everyone.”

“He is the chemistry teacher, I’m sure he could get away with it.” 

“I broke up with him. Good riddance.”

“Can I get your notes from Chemistry?”

You’ve done it almost your whole life, listened to others. Most times they didn’t even know it, while a group of friends would make jokes and weekend plans, you would listen to ever word while your eyes scanned over the book in your hands. You never really had friends, feeling so alien and alone, listening to them talk was the only way you could make yourself understand what they were going through. 

_I don’t need to do this anymore,_ you laugh to yourself, _but it’s become one of many habits._

\---

Sometimes you wished you could burn your habits. Listening to everything makes you hear things you wish you hadn't. You were in the library, researching the French Revolution for your next history paper, when vile words crept into your ears.

“I think I’m transferring out of here in the spring. I want to go back to my home, where things are right.”

“Right? What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Because of that new law? It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? I don’t want some guy in the same bathroom as me.”

“First off, _she_ would be--” 

“No, just, no.” 

You had to leave. 

You stood up silently, checked out the books you had been looking at, and walked away, fighting the urge to run. 

_The first words of hate you hear are always the hardest._

You are curled up on your bed, forcing yourself to take deep breaths, trying to stop the tears crawl down your face. 

_People often say hateful things when they don’t understand, or do not want to understand._

Your grandfather’s words circle around your head. You always understood them, but you never thought you would need to know them again. You believed the world could be more open than your mother, you believed you would never have to hear her cruel words again. 

You don’t like being wrong. 

“Why?” You breathe out the word to no one, feeling your chest tremble. “Why does it matter?” 

You have no answer for yourself. Could you blame society and it’s ideas of what is right and wrong being forced into people’s minds? Or the older generations forcing the younger ones to follow the same close-minded patterns of the past? But are people taught to hate or to love? The other girl, she was fine with everything, she understood. Was she taught to be open minded, or was she just not taught to be hateful?

Your thoughts twist around your head, forming philosophical problems and questions to distract yourself from the painful jab every beat of your heart brings. When you were living with your mom, you did the same thing, gave yourself complete problems or puzzles to work on for a distraction from her oblivious gaze and words. You lost count of how many hours you lost yourself to puzzle games where you had to escape from rooms in the strangest ways. And now that you think about it, maybe those room escape games meant something, some deep desire to escape from your room, your house, your mother.

Escaping a room was easy. But how could you be expected to escape the world?

“Great. Crying rabbit.” Kanda’s voice is impassive, but you’re more surprised you were so absorbed in your thoughts you didn’t hear him come in.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” You didn’t want him to see you cry, it’s not like he would care anyway. Maybe that’s better, then you wouldn’t have to explain. What would you do if Kanda thought the same thing of you as that girl probably does?

Is it okay for him not to know?

“Hey, Kanda? Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. How do you feel… about… people who don’t… aren’t…”

“Lavi.”

“Cisgender. What do you think about people who aren’t the gender they’re biologically born as?”

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t… care?” 

“It doesn’t really matter, does it? People can be and do whatever they want with their lives. It’s not my say in how other people are.”

You feel like crying out of pure relief. 

“Thank you.” You breathe out the words, not sure if they were meant for Kanda or for some higher being who decided to give you an extremely indifferent roommate. 

\---

You try to forget about the girl. You never see her around, she’s not a part of your life. But in the back of your mind her words twist and turn. Sometimes, they will pierce through and enter your consciousness, and you’ll have to bury them again. 

You’re outside today, enjoying the last few days of warm weather before the winter winds blow in and make outside a miserable experience. You’re staring at your biology book, quite ready to close it and go back to reading _Sense and Sensibility_ for the second time, when she walks up to you. 

You don’t recognize her clothing or face, so you know she’s not in any of your classes, but the moment she opens her mouth you remember her voice. 

“Hey.” She was there, in the library, the other girl, the one who defended transgender people. 

“Hi.” 

“Would you mind if I sat with you?” 

“Of course not.” 

You watch her sit next to you, the way she moves, how she shakes her hair slightly (and holy cow that is _a lot_ of hair), the way she smiles. You don’t know why you’re paying so much attention to her, but it’s probably because the alternative is re-reading the lesson on Natural Selection for the third time. 

She’s quite for a moment, then turns to you with a smile. “I’m Lenalee.”

“I’m Lavi.” You say, returning her smile. 

“This is going to sound a bit strange, but Kanda’s your roommate right?”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, he is.” 

Lenalee laughs with you, turning her whole body your direction. “Okay, I’m glad I found the right person. He told me to find someone with ‘red hair and his nose in a book’.”

“Oh? And what did he want you to do once you found me?”

“Nothing, he said you needed another friend. Well, ‘someone else you could annoy’ was his exact phrasing.” 

“Wow, he does have a heart!” You exclaim and Lenalee laughs again.

You learn she went to the same high school as Kanda, although she was a few years behind him. Apparently, he’s a little older than you and really had no interest in going to school, he’s only here because Lenalee forced him to do something with his life, so they applied together. 

You didn’t know any of this, probably because Kanda hardly speaks to you, but you don’t mind. Everyone has secrets. 

It doesn’t take long for you to officially decide you like Lenalee, she’s nice, easy to talk to, and majoring in preforming arts. You lose the rest of your saturday to talking with her, and the two of you even go out for dinner together. 

“Lenalee, can I call us friends?”

“Yeah, of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and for the lovely comments! 
> 
> The next update might take some time, as I'm going to be working on another thing for the next week, but it won't be a long wait. 
> 
> Also, if this is triggering in any sense, I do apologize, please tell me and I will tag it as so.


	4. Chapter 4

You blink and freshman year is gone. 

Kanda never did get to move out at the semester mark, so you got a full year of being roomies with the man who always looked like he was ten seconds away from stabbing someone. You didn’t mind at all, despite all the death threats thrown your way for being annoying, and you definitely consider him a friend (no matter how much he glares at you when you say it). 

You made quite a few friends. It was way easier than you thought it would be, just talking to people in your classes and going out for lunch or grabbing coffee with a study group. People were varying degrees of social, but most people were friendly once you got to know them. And no treated you differently. Well, granted they had no reason to. 

Kanda and Lenalee were the only two you told about being transgender, well rather you had a bad day, broke down crying and told them. Kanda stood by his notion of not caring, and Lenalee said it didn’t make a difference to her either, “you are Lavi, and Lavi is whoever you know you are”. That is why you call Lenalee and Kanda your best friends. 

You live with your grandfather and spend most of your summer working various minor jobs. Sadly, your tuition isn’t going to pay for itself and you do need to eat. After you’re done with college, you’ll have to find a good job to start paying back your loans… you groan just thinking about it. No one warned you being an adult in the real world majorly sucked, and that everything was so expensive. 

You complained about this to your grandfather once and he only pointed out that you were majoring in history, which limited your job openings even more. You let out a sigh and collapsed dramatically, earning you a scoff and an eye roll. 

“Well, at least you can speak, read, and write seven languages, that could help in getting you a job.”

“A job in what? Translating historical texts?”

“That is a possibility.”

“Urgh. It would be interesting, but does anyone really want to sit hunched over a book for hours? Talk about boring.”

\---

Summer flies by a lot faster than you think it should, and you soon find yourself e-mailing Kanda, trying to convince him to request you for a roommate this year. 

_Let’s face it, by now we’re both used to each other right? I mean, due to random chance, you could get some slob, or someone who blasts music 24/7, or someone even more annoying than you think I am. It’s just a safe bet, being with someone you already know, right?_

You still don’t know how you actually got him to agree, or why you were so desperate to keep Kanda as a roommate. 

… … … … 

That’s a lie.

You felt safe with him, he accepted you and treated you how you with as much respect as Kanda could give someone, you think. Okay, he treats Lenalee better than you, but its for a different reason than your main issue. Familiarity is safety. You wouldn’t have to risk being with someone like your mother. 

You never want to be treated like that again. 

You would gladly take hundreds more empty glares and threats over of being looked at with complete disgust. 

\---

Going back to school is almost surreal to you. You haven’t gone back to school after summer since eighth grade. You cut off your hair that year and left the very root of your unhappiness, your mother and her terrible words. Your grandfather did not make you go to high school, so you are returning to school for the first time in six years. _Wow you suddenly feel old._

It’s strange to see faces you know, and some you don’t, to hear people call out your name, say hello and ask you about your summer. It lights you up inside in a way you can’t even explain.

“Lavi!” You turn around again, seeing a very recognizable face with long hair walking up to you.

“Lenalee! How are you? How was break?”

“It was amazing! I spent it with my brother at home and I helped teach a local drama class for a few weeks, it was so fun!”

“That’s super cool!”

“What did you do?”

“Worked and had an early mid-life crisis about future debts.” 

She laughs and you realize the normal life you never had, the one you thought was furiously denied to you, is not only in your reach, but surrounding you. How many nights did you lay awake thinking about what it would be like to fit in with people around you, to peacefully joke talk about life without feeling a burning sense of misplacement and disgust with yourself? 

You introduce yourself to people not flinching away from the name you give and you walk in the crowd with your head held up and shoulders loose, less afraid that any moment something could slip and destroy the appearance you created. You speak without hesitation, not fearing the voice that escapes your lips; it’s quite amazing how little they say your voice changed, but who much it did at the same time, to you at least. 

So much has changed for you. 

Someone calls Lenalee’s name and she waves to them, telling you she’ll call later and the three of you should go out for dinner. She turns, running to her friend’s waving hand, when she crashes into a someone. 

“Oh, I am so sorry! Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

You catch the interaction out of the corner of your eye, they only exchange a few words before both continuing on their way, but you can’t help but turn to look at him. He stands out in the crowd, and you watch his white hair as he quickly walks somewhere. From the fact you have not seen a young student with white hair before, and the fact he looks around every once in a while in a searching manner, you conclude he’s a freshman. 

Your conscious says you should go up to him, ask him if he needs directions and be a nice helpful person to the new undergrads, but you spot Kanda walking toward your new dorm and run after him instead. 

“Kanda!” You flash him a huge smile, earning yourself and empty stare. “How was your summer?”

“How can you be so happy about being back in school?”

“I like learning?”

“You really are a stupid rabbit, then.”

“Wow, rude. Didn’t you miss me at all?”

“I did not.”

“Liar” 

“Explain to me again why we’re roommates for the second time? You’re a lot louder and more obnoxious than I remember you being.” 

“You wound me!”

“I wish.”

“Hey!”

Kanda has not changed one bit in the months you didn’t see him, not that you expected him to, but it was nice to have another constant thing in your life.

You fall back into the routine of taking classes, studying, and hanging out with Lenalee, Kanda, and Co. It’s almost like you never left, which aside from having completely new classes this year and getting three months off, is mostly true. You find comfort in falling asleep in the same room as Kanda, which is strange considering growing up you were never comfortable enough to sleep in the same room as others… You didn’t even go to sixth grade science camp.

But here you are, happy to be around others. Comfortable enough to be around others. 

You spent most of freshman year getting used to being around people all the time, and to the work load and pacing of college (although that one was not too hard, your grandfather worked you much harder than college does). The most social things you did were going to coffee, lunch, or studying with a few select people. 

This year, if you can, you want to do more. You really want to live and experience everything you can. 

\---

On Saturday, you see the white haired boy again. 

This is odd because it’s Saturday and you didn’t leave the campus like most people did or sleep in, like the rest. You woke up early and happened to glance out your window to find him standing outside. It was almost too dark to even see who he was, but the little light the crack of dawn provided caught his hair, which is a very defining feature. You couldn’t misplace his hair if you tried. 

He makes you curious. You don’t know why exactly, but perhaps it is because he stands out so much, but looks like he doesn’t want to. You really want to meet him. But for now, you settle on creepily watching him from your window. 

Because that’s not stalker-ish at all. 

You let your head fall into your hands as you contemplate why you’re doing this with your life. You should just lay down or go shower or finish reading _Great Expectations_. But you don’t. You peak through your fingers and look out your window again. 

He looks like he’s stretching, rolling his shoulders and lifting his arms above his head. You expect him to go for a run or something like that, but he surprises you. He pulls something, most likely an iPod, out of his pocket changes the song he’s listening to. 

Then he starts to _dance_.

You feel like you’re looking at something very private, like listening into a private conversation or walking into a room only to find a two people making out. Which you’ve done before. Twice. Not fun. But unlike that time, where you turned on your heels and left the room instantly, you can’t look away. 

His movements are fluid, probably matching the music in his ears, yet they have… a bite to them. It looks like something stuck between a dance and a fight, and it’s _beautiful_. 

You’ve watched people for a long time, but this was first time you had seen such pure expression of emotion… that was probably because he thought no one was watching him. You should look away, you know this is something not meant for you to see - it’s probably the reason why he’s outside while it’s still dark on a saturday. The chances of being seen are low. Unless someone comes by on an early morning jog or stares out their window by chance. 

You really can’t look away.

It’s mesmerizing. 

You watch him through three songs, at least you think so, as his movements appear to distinctively shift three times. After the third one he freezes, arms stretched out, head titled back, facing away from the building. His arms drop slowly and something tells you he’s done for today. 

He turns then, walking to toward the doors of your dormitory building. You didn’t realize he was in the same dorm as you. Maybe that will increase your chance of meeting him. You want to know his name at least, and you’ve been saying “white haired boy” in your head, you should ask about that as well. 

As he walks out of sight, a sudden wave of guilt hits you. You are going to feel bad about this for a while. But what are you supposed to do about it? Just walk up to him and say “hey I saw you dancing”? No, you probably shouldn’t mention it. As far as you know, it’s a secret. You can keep secrets. You’re very good at it. 

But now you want to talk to him more than ever. How can someone show such powerful anger, sadness, and joy all at the same time. And what makes him dance? 

You lay back on your bed, covering your eyes with your arm. You’re getting obsessed. That’s… not a good thing. With you, obsession is deep. You desperately pick things apart you become obsessed with, but you can’t pick him apart like you would a book, movie, or game.

But you can talk to him.

You want to talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long, and it's not everything I wanted but this seamed like a good stopping point before the next section.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left me comments and kudos, it means so much too me!


	5. Chapter 5

Some people are throwing a party tonight on 124 Burning Vale Road, approximately a ten minute walk from campus. It seams like everyone has been talking about it all day. And it apparently, _like, everyone is going to be there_. 

You really don’t mind going or not. There will be so many people, you’ll be lost in crowd. You’ll just sit there and listen to people talk, watch them interact, perhaps you’ll talk to someone and meet a few new people. It will be loud, not that you mind that factor too much, and people might start drinking. On the other hand, you could stay home and hide in your dorm reading _Eleanor & Park_ or Dante’s _Inferno_ or keep researching France’s influence on the Congress of Vienna and how this shaped the Europe that was repaired upon Napoleon’s fall. 

But Lenalee hits you on the head and tells you to get out more. She then spends the next several minutes convincing Kanda to come with the two of you to the party, “only for a couple hours”, “we can leave any time”. 

Some how she gets Kanda to reluctantly agree, and the three of you head down to Burning Vale Road at 9:30, hoping to find people you know and merge into the crowds. Lenalee is the first to depart from the group, heading off to talk to some people from her drama classes who are working on the lighting and costuming for the winter production. Kanda loiters for a while before heading outside, probably to go do what ever it is Kandas do when placed in unnatural habitats. _Okay, but what do Kandas do in their natural habitat? More observation is needed._

You walk around inside, talking to a few people here and there. You’re kind of impressed by how many people you recognize from around the campus or your classes, but you’re more impressed by the people who recognize you. Quite a few people call out your name over the loud music, waving you over to talk for a bit. Three or four drunkenly throw their arms over your shoulders, leaning into you when they speak. A part of you panics at the closeness, at the possibility of them feeling the slightly raised scars on your chest, but you bear their presence until someone else catches their eye. 

After a stumbling Daisya abandons your arm to search for Kanda, who you _did not_ throw under the bus as a convent way to get Daisya to stop breathing down your neck, you find yourself in what you think is the living room. There are two people on the couch shoving their tongues into each other’s mouths and a a few girls standing around someone in the corner, they look quite tipsy. You’re about to leave when you hear something off.

“I’ve heard you’re a great kisser. Can I have a taste?”

“Really, I would prefer if we didn’t.”

“Come on, it could be fun.”

“No, I don’t think so. Can you please step back?”

You change your angle and walk by the girls again, this time seeing the person they have trapped against the wall. 

You would notice that white hair anywhere. 

This is the first time you see his face though, and the lighting and angle is pretty bad, but he looks like he’s a few minutes away from panicking. His smile is forced, his eyes dart between their heads, searching for a way out, and you can hear the strain in his voice, the silent plea to escape.

“Angie, maybe we’re not his type.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a cousin in here. He could use some lovin’ too.”

“No, that’s not it. Just…” He looks frustrated and defensive, but almost scared, like he’s been in this situation before, and it terrifies him. 

He needs help. 

“Hey!” You walk up to them, waving your hand and staring at the white haired boy. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

He looks at you, confusion flickering in his eyes before they fill with relief. You were giving him the out he needed, and he appears to know to play along. 

“Have you? I’m sorry about that.”

“No problem, Lena sent me to find you.” The girls seam to back off a little, looking mildly offended, and you reach out to the boy. He latches his hand onto your arm like he’s falling off a cliff and you’re the only support he has to stay up. “We’re gonna leave and go get something to eat. Come on.”

You flash the girls a smile and they half roll their eyes, half snarl at you. You take the white haired boy by the hand, leading him through the house and out the front door. You don’t know how far to go, how much he wants to get away from the party, or how okay he is with you just whisking him away, so you stop at the side walk and turn to face him. He looks relieved, and almost sorry to take his hand out of yours, but also eager, like he doesn’t want to be touched. 

You can understand that. 

“Thank you, for that.” 

“Any time.” You give him a soft smile. “Are you okay? You looked pretty stressed back there.”

“I’m fine.” He snaps, and the look in his eyes tells you he’s lying. He takes a breath and semi laughs out “Some people just can’t take no for an answer.”

“That’s very true.” You can tell he’s stuck between feeling relieved and uncomfortable, and you really don’t like that. You want him to see you has a friend, not someone to fear. 

“Lavi Bookman.” You say off handedly, and he blinks at you. “My name. It’s Lavi Bookman. Thought you might like to know who the creepy guy who took you away from the party is.”

He smiles at your comment. “I’m Allen Walker.”

 _Allen Walker._ You commit the name to memory, plastering it over ‘ _the white haired boy_ ’.

“And I don’t think you’re creepy. You’re nice to help someone out in a situation where people would normally say ‘hey, aren’t you lucky, three girls want a piece of you, every man’s dream’.” He throws on a fake voice for his comment and you have to stifle your laughter. “It’s not fun.”

“Do people really say that?”

“Yes.” His response is instant, doubling the truth in his words.

“Wow. Assholes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Sometimes. I don’t go out much. And I don’t often listen when I do. But when I can hear people, they always seam to be saying the same things.” Allen shakes his head a bit. “Sorry, I’m babbling.” 

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” But he doesn’t want to talk about it, you can tell. “I don’t go out much either.”

“And yet here we both are, at a party with tons of people.” He laughs a bit, giving you a crooked half smile and something in your chest skips a beat.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I got dragged along to ‘better my social life’.”

“I was walking back to the dorms and got coursed into coming. Big mistake.”

“Ah.”

Silence. You don’t know what to say. You know nothing about him, and you’re going to go off on a limb and say bringing up his dancing, white hair, or what just happened are not great conversation continuers. You really want to talk to him, but you don’t have anything to talk about. 

“Well,” He says after a few moments, looking up at you. “Thank you for helping me, but I really should go back to the dorms.”

“Yeah, of course.” You stumble over your words, something that was uncommon for you. “Um, are you okay going back alone, or would you like me to walk with you?”

“No, thank you. I’m good.”

“Alright.”

He smiles again. “And thanks, for taking no for an answer.”

He turns away from you, walking away from the light of the house, into the darkness before the next street light shines down. He’s barely three steps away from you when his hand skillfully removes something from his pocket and untangle the cord around it. His ear buds are in by the time he’s ten steps away from you. You watch him until you can’t see him anymore. 

_“I don’t go out much. And I don’t often listen when I do. But when I can hear people, they always seam to be saying the same things.”_

That’s what he meant by not listening. Allen Walker tunes the world out. 

You look back at the party, but you don’t feel like being there anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did this quicker than I expected to, but it's shorter so :/
> 
> Also, due to my school work, updates will take more time, but I will try to keep posting every two weeks or so. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> Also, thank you again for your lovely comments and kudos, it means the world to me.


	6. Chapter 6

You’re… not sure what you’re drinking. But you guess that’s what you get for staring at the menu for ten minutes before saying “Tea, surprise me on the kind.” 

It’s black? With a hint of orange? And something else you can’t quite place. It’s not bad, it’s just unusual at first. And really thick, like how you would think drinking watery tree sap would feel like. Maybe it’s a type of tree leaf?

“Lavi.” Lenalee sighs and you look up from your cup to meet her strained gaze. “You’re doing it again.” 

“Sorry, Lena.” 

“If it’s bothering you so much, just go ask. If it’s not, can you ask me some questions from my psychology study guide?” 

“It’s fine.” You sit up, grabbing Lenalee’s papers and reading the first thing your eyes fall on. “What is an unconscious personality structure made up of biological urges seeking fulfillment?” 

Lenalee takes a breath, blinking once before saying “Id?”

You nod. “Lena, you’ve been studying this way too much, I think you’re good. It’s not like you’re taking this class for your main career.”

“Psych is helping me understand people; I can understand, break down, and build up characters so much better now!” Lenalee takes a sip of her… you actually didn’t pay attention to her order this time. You’re having a really off day.

“Have you ever considered writing? Books? Plays? Anything?” You ask, looking over the notes Lenalee has on the side of the paper. They’re all about characters from plays. 

“Sometimes. I took art in high school, though, instead of journalism.”

“You did a lot of preforming arts stuff.” 

She smirks, letting out a quick laugh. “Hence my major, Sherlock.” 

“Well, yeah.” You roll your eyes. “But anyway, I was thinking, you could probably do amazing things with characterization with your acting skill and psychology studies. I think you’d write some good things.”

“Really? Maybe I should try it.” You smile at her, nodding quickly.

Lenalee takes another sip and looks at the clock on the wall, almost choking on her drink. 

“L-cubed?”

“If I don’t leave in about three minutes I am going to be late and my Tech teacher is going to kill me.” She scrambles, grabbing her papers; you collect them as well and pass them to her. She slides them into her bag and throws it on her shoulder, grabbing her drink and running out the door with a call of “See you later!” 

You smile as you watch Lenalee run off. You love seeing her so passionate about her theatre work, even if her hurry to leave was because the Director probably _would_ kill her for being late. 

Your eyes fall back to your tea and you continue to question what exactly is in it, what is that mystery flavor? You’re being a little childish about this, you have no doubt they would tell you if you asked, but you’re not going to. Instead you place your head in the palm of your hand and run your fingers around the rim of your cup, listing off spices and herbs in your head. 

You’re at the end of J, on Juniper, when a voice chimes in from in front of you. “Is this seat taken?” 

You raise your eyes from your cup and immediately straighten as you see white hair. _Allen Walker._ You can’t stop the smile that breaks out on your face. 

“It was taken, but she had to run. Now it’s all yours.” You gesture to the open chair, offering him the seat.

“Thanks.” He says the word with a large smile, and slides into the seat, setting his cup down on the table. 

This is the first time you’re seeing his face close up in good lighting, so naturally you take a moment to examine every inch of it. Judging from how his eyes slide over your face, he’s doing the same thing. You’re kind of flattered, if that is what he’s doing. 

His eyes are gray, answering your question of whether it was the lighting of that night that made them seem colorless. But they don’t look empty. They shine. His face is nice, looking just a little on the younger side, especially when he smiles. Your eyes eventually land on the light, jagged scar that cuts through his left eye. How ever he got it must have hurt a lot. You decide to not to indulge your curiosity, shifting your gaze to focus elsewhere, and your eyes fall on his hands. Gloved hands. It’s barely September and still very warm out. You bring your eyes up again, resting your gaze on the whole of Allen’s face, fighting the urge not to ask him why he’s wearing gloves or why his hair is white or how he got that scar.

“So,” you say, leaning forward. “What brings you downtown in the middle of a tuesday?”

“I don’t have late classes this semester.” He takes a sip of his drink, then adds “On tuesdays and thursdays.” with an amused smile.

“Very nice. Neither do I.” 

He’s drumming his fingers on his cup, the rhythm probably matching a song he has playing in his head. Even though you know almost nothing about the person in front of you, you know Allen Walker likes music. That’s… actually odd, isn’t it? To only know something like that about an otherwise total stranger. 

“What are you drinking?” You ask, grabbing at any string that will spark a conversation.

“Passion fruit tea lemonade,” Allen says the name slowly, glancing up, as if he’s trying to remember what it was he ordered. 

“Not your usual?”

“I’ve never tried it before. It was on their special board and sounded interesting.”

“Is it any good?”

He takes another sip and closes his eyes; you smile at his show. “Well, I would not say it was bad in any sense, but it has a little kick you need to get used to. I would give it a nine out of ten, would drink again.”

You laugh and Allen smiles, setting his cup back down and leaning forward in his chair. You can almost see some of the tension in his shoulders slip away as he relaxes into your company. You are doing the same thing; you can feel yourself calming down, settling into talking with him.

“What about you?” He says, gesturing to your cup.

“I am… not entirely sure.” You glance at it and chuckle again. “I ordered a tea and said ‘surprise me’, and I know it’s an orange something, but I can’t figure out what the something is.”

“Could I try?”

“Sure.” You slide your cup to Allen, the back of your mind questioning why you are sharing your drink with him. 

He takes a sip, closing his eyes again. “Woah… that’s thick.” You watch the way Allen shake his head, the way his nose scrunches up, how his mouth opens slightly and his tongue seams to make small darting movements. You really shouldn’t be this interested, it’s borderline obsessive.

“It’s really strange, but I feel like a know it.” He slides the cup back to you. 

“Are you going to rate this one too?”

“Eh, six out of ten. It’s not bad, but you would definitely have to get used to it. Wouldn’t order it myself, but maybe would taste test someone else ordering it.” He smirks at you, chucking lightly. 

“Hey! Don’t be making a habit out of this.”

“Eucalyptus.” He snaps his fingers in a _I got it!_ sort of way that matches his tone. “That’s what your tea tastes like.” 

You quickly take another sip and _oh my god he’s right. It’s Eucalyptus. Why didn’t you recognize that?_

“You’re right! Wow, I really should have been able to recognize that taste. I’ve been trying to figure it out for about thirty-five minutes now.”

“Thirty-five minutes?” Allen rests his head on his hand, an amused look in his eyes. “Is that how you like to spend your time?”

“It was an on and off mental occupation!” He’s teasing you. And you’re letting him. You’re acting defensive but you don’t feel your walls coming up. Talking to Allen… it’s oddly comforting. “I was also helping Lenalee study.” 

“The friend who’s seat I took?” 

You nod.

“Of course.” 

You’re not sure how his smirk makes you feel. 

“You don’t believe me?” You cross your arms and lean back.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve never _seen_ you with anyone.”

“You’ve only _seen_ me twice!” 

“That is very true, and both times you _did_ say you had friends.” His grin is back. “Well, one friend. Lenalee was it?” 

“Yes, Lenalee Lee. She’s amazing. I also know several other people too, believe it or not.” He laughs. “For example, I’m roommates with an ever so charming Yu Kanda.”

“Oh. My. God.” Allen’s eyes widen, his mouth twitching, and you can almost see his eyebrows furrow slightly. “Yu. Kanda.” All he says is his name, but you can almost hear the frustration dripping off every syllable. 

“How do you know Kanda?” You’re honestly surprised. Kanda doesn’t get out much. And Allen doesn’t seem like the kind of person Kanda would socialize with. That and Kanda isn't really into being social in the first place. He talks to like five people willingly. 

“He’s in my Philosophy class and he’s a jerk. He appears to hate me for a million reasons I can’t figure out, but someone said it might be because I don’t have a roommate and his is ‘annoying.’” 

You snap open your jaw and place a hand on your chest in the most dramatically offended way possible. “Wow. Rude.” 

“Oh my god.” Allen’s hands fly to his mouth. “I am so sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine.” You wave your hand in air, trying to dismiss Allen’s fear at offending you. “He tells me that every day.” 

He copies your “Wow. Rude.” and you can’t stop the smile that crawls onto your face.

“It’s not so bad, you get used to it.”

Allen mumbles something into his cup as he takes another drink. You only catch the words “sounds like… to me.” 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Allen looks down, then away from you. It makes you feel… uncomfortable. With his eyes looking away, the mood shifts. You don’t like it. 

“Didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I’m inclined to reserve all judgements.” He flicks his eyes back to you, the playfulness from before dimmed slightly. 

“A habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores.”

Allen raises an eyebrow, a soft smile coming back to his lips. The mood shifts back and you give your memory a mental high-five.

“What? I thought we were just quoting _The Great Gatsby_.”

“Not many people can finish that quote without batting an eye. Color me impressed.”

“I read a lot. Gatsby’s one of my favorites. What’s not to love about a book condemning the lifestyle of the 20s and exploring the faults of the American dream?”

“Lavi Bookman, living up to your name I see.”

“You have no idea.” 

You spend the rest of the afternoon talking to Allen. Your conversations stay shallow, but you start making a mental list of everything you learn about Allen Walker. You don’t know why, but he intrigues you. There is just something about him that draws you in, makes talking so easy, makes you want to know him.

_Would you be this way if you had not seen him dancing?_

When he finally gets up to leave, he suggests you meet again sometime. You tell him to come back here thursday, and you’ll prove you have friends by introducing him to Lenalee. He flashes you a smile and says he’ll come. 

“Oh, I forgot, I was gonna ask you this earlier, but what are your pronouns?” 

“That’s a very good question.” Allen unwraps his earbuds, not looking at you. “He is what I’ve always used, but who knows? Gender is a societal construct anyway. I’ll get back to you on that, okay?”

“So, I should use…?”

“He is fine, I guess.” 

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long, my school work has greatly increased this semester. Please don't expect regular updates, but I promise I will update, and some kind of plot will come about eventually. Yeah. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for all the nice comments and kudos I've gotten!


	7. Chapter 7

Wednesday is boring. 

Your first two classes can’t hold your interest. Not that they are particularly boring, but they are only basic courses in biology and statistics, nothing that you’re over zealous about on a normal day. But today… today it’s at least ten times worse. 

The clock seams to tick at speeds that could match grass growing and your mind keeps wandering off, back to his white hair, scarred face, gloved hands, soft smile, shining eyes. Back to his parting comment that left a fluttering sensation in your chest. _Gender is a social construct anyway._

You’re excited for tomorrow, to say the least. 

You want Allen to meet Lenalee, you want them to get along (you can’t do much about the Kanda issue but hope they can be sociable), and you want to adopt Allen into your little group of close friends. He’d fit nicely with the three of you, and the various other people who come and go around you. 

_“Gender is a societal construct anyway.”_

His words echo in your mind and you can’t help but smile, loving the weight they carried. You’re positive he doesn’t know about you, no one ever does (you’re very good at, and very used to, hiding your secret), and you don’t think Lenalee or Kanda would have said anything to a practical stranger. So his words are the true to him, not just a comment of kindness. 

The thought makes your chest sing. 

You must be radiating your absolute excitement when you meet up with Kanda and Lenalee for lunch, as the former quite literally flinches back at the sight of your smile. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Kanda’s tone is sprinkled with a mild disapproval. 

“Can’t I just have a good day?” You practically sing the words as you pull out a chair, joining them around the table.

Kanda makes his “tsk” sound and goes back to scanning the menu. You don’t understand why he even bothers to read it, because Kanda is a creature of habit and always orders the same thing. _Another observation of the Kanda species for the notebook._

“Really Lavi, you look like you’re glowing. What’s up?” Lenalee sets her menu down and locks eyes with you, not willing to move on from the topic until you caved.

“I was just chatting with someone yesterday and invited him to coffee tomorrow so you can meet him. I’m excited; I want you to get along and I think you will.” 

“Oh! That’s great!” Lenalee smiles and you can practically taste the underlying meaning of her words in her tone. _Lavi, it’s great that you’re finally branching out and being more social with people by yourself. I’m really happy for you._

“Thanks, Lena. I think you’ll like him. Apparently Kanda doesn’t like him, so that’s a pretty good indicator he’s a good person.”

“Oh, Kanda knows him?”

“They have a class together; you’ve met him too, technically. Do you remember on the first day of school this year? You almost ran into a white haired boy?”

“You befriended _the beansprout_?” 

_Where does he get these nicknames?_

“Two things: is there a website of catchy, bad nicknames you pull theses from? And secondly, I don’t think he’s _that_ short, and I _am_ taller than you.”

_Tsk._ “He is, you must be blind.” Kanda brings the menu up to his face, ending the conversation, at least until he wants to say something sassy and rude again. 

“Anyway, Lena.” You make quite a show of turning away from Kanda’s piss-poor attitude. “Do you remember him?”

You take her silence and questioning expression as a no.

“Someone called you over, and as you were going to them, you ran into a white haired kid. A little shorter than you, earbuds were most likely in, said he was really sorry? Ringing any bells?”

“Yeah,” Lenalee says the word slowly, and you can see the dots connecting in her head, her mouth shifting into a smile. “Yeah, I remember him now. I didn’t really get a good look at him, but the white hair stands out a bit.” 

“A bit?” You ignore Kanda’s quip. 

“That’s him! We met the other day, then again at the café after you left and you need to meet him to prove I have friends.” 

Lenalee gives you a look but you brush it off and drop the topic by picking up the menu. 

The rest of the day keeps crawling by, and you find yourself scribbling in your notebook on more than one occasion. Phrases, small drawings, some notes from your lectures, the two pages you covered are a mess of everything that flew through your head all day. 

\---

Thursday morning doesn’t go much better. You wake up a hours before you usually do and end up showered, dressed, and bored lying on your bed for the next 45 minutes before your class starts. Your heartbeat is quick, you can feel it thumping away in your chest, and you can’t understand why. All you’re doing is introducing one person to another today, it’s not like you’re going on a hot date or getting permission to marry someone. 

Trying to rationalize your actions does not help. 

_Is it because of what he said? Is it because you saw him dancing? Is it because Lenalee is one of your best friends and you want her approval? Is it because he’s a mystery that you’re itching to solve?_

This much distraction in your life is not a good thing. 

You force yourself to calm down before your classes, which isn’t that hard considering world history is the blood that flows through your veins. No amount of white-haired-boy-with-a-mysterious-background thoughts are going to distract you. Or at least you keep telling yourself that as you listen semi-intently to the lecture on Latin American revolutions. It doesn’t help that Lenalee spends your next class smiling at you _ever so sweetly_ from behind her copy of _Beloved._

You’re out of your desk practically the second the class ends, telling Lenalee to put her books in bags _faster._

“Lavi, please calm down. I think it will take him more than five seconds to get to the cafe.”

“I can’t help it, L, I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’ve been asking myself that for the last 48 hours. Can we go now?”

She sighs and shakes her head with a smile, but picks up her bag and follows you out the door. 

It only takes a few minutes to walk to the just-off-campus-everyone-considers-it-on-campus café, and Lenalee talks about the novel you’re reading for American Literature the whole time. 

Her questions are trivial, yet stimulating; as if she is specifically trying to distract you, make you think about something other than Allen Walker and the coffee shop. It works, as you find yourself caught up in talking about Denver’s stunning character development when you walk into the café.

A quick scan tells you he is not yet here, so you get in line while Lenalee snatches an extra seat for your favorite table. There are only a few people ahead of you, so in no time at all you’re at the counter ordering a pink lemonade smoothie and vanilla iced coffee. No surprise drinks today that are going to leave you confused for a half an hour. 

You’re waiting for them to call your name, or something close to it _(“Lavi.” “Levi?” “no, Lavi. Lah-vee.” “Lay-vee?” “…close enough.”)_ when you hear it: a light voice embedded with a smile. 

“Hello.” 

A smile springs onto your face and you spin around and look down to find Allen Walker next to you. _Okay, maybe he is a little on the short side…_

“Hey!” You reply a bit too enthusiastically. 

He just came from class, at least you assume so by the fact he’s carrying a messenger bag that you haven’t seen him with before. The bag is decorated with several buttons, most of which have various phrases on them you can’t make out from your angle. 

“I have a vanilla iced coffee and pink lemonade smoothie for a La-vee-ay!” 

“Now that’s just sad.” You mumble, walking up to the counter. 

Allen’s snickering behind you. “La-vee-ay?” 

“I want to say I’ve heard worse, but that is a new low for them.” You shake your head and gesture to the table where Lenalee’s sitting. “We’re sitting over there.”

“Oh, so she does exist!” Allen has a really nice smile, even if this one is a teasing grin. 

“Told you so.” You stick out your tongue in a true act of being childish. _Wow, Allen’s special. You normally save this behavior for Kanda._

“I have a peppermint mocha frappe for Allen!”

“Really.”

“My name is _Allen Walker_. It takes more effort to say it wrong than it does to say it right.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Buy an easier name then.”

“My name is easy! It’s just uncommon.”

“I am 90% sure your name is a few stages past uncommon, _Lavi_.” 

Lenalee is smiling as you approach the table, her eyes shining with joy. She’s happy at how comfortable you are around Allen. You can read her like a book when she lets you. Other times she plasters on one of her acting faces and you never know what she’s thinking. 

You hand Lenalee her drink and take a seat, offering the other to Allen.

“Lenalee, this is Allen Walker. Allen, this is Lenalee Lee. You ran into each other on the first day of school.” 

Allen looks down, tapping his fingers on his cup, with a very mixed expression on his face. 

“I know.” He looks up and lets out a short laugh. “I’m sorry about that again, I was distracted and wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, which probably wasn’t a good thing because I was also lost.”

_I was listening to music and got lost_ is probably what he meant to say. Now you feel bad, you really should have offered to give him directions or a tour of the campus that day. 

“It’s fine! To be honest, I didn’t even remember until Lavi pointed it out yesterday.” Lenalee laces compassion and a sense of _carefree-ness_ into her voice, and you silently thank her for being able to read the atmosphere and react positively. 

“Well, now you’ve met and I’ve proven that I have friends. So there.” 

Allen smiles and takes a sip of his drink. “Yes, you do have friends. Color me surprised. Again.”

“Rude.” 

“So, Allen what are you going to major in?” Lenalee asks.

“I’m not sure yet. Nothing really jumped out at me in high school; I just came to college because it was the ‘next step’. Hopefully I can get my life together before the end of Freshman year.”

“Well that’s okay. Sometimes it’s harder. I’ve always loved the theatre and preforming arts, so chosing a Theatre major just felt right. But I think most people don’t know what they want to do when they start college.” 

“Even though they tell you to start thinking about it in the sixth grade?”

“Totally.” You chime in. “I was kind of lost until I lived with my grandfather. That’s when I realized how much I love history.”

“Yes, but Lavi, you also skipped high school.” Lenalee points out. 

“Yeah, that’s true. I wasn’t exposed to the six or seven required areas of study and I lived with a history major so I’m bias as hell, but still: what I trying to say is you’ll find something it just takes time. Not everyone is like Lenalee and had their life planned out at eighteen. I didn’t even start college at eighteen.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty.” Allen chokes on his drink a bit. “I turned twenty-one last month. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just didn’t think you were that much older than me.” 

“I completely understand Allen.” You’re not sure if you like that glimmer in Lenalee’s eyes. “He acts like he’s a child sometimes. Not someone who can legally buy alcohol.” 

“Lena! That’s hurtful, you know!”

She laughs with a teasing smile and Allen attempts (quite unsuccessfully) to stifle his laughter. You relax into your chair, feeling at ease with them. They get along. What ever anxiety was piling up in your stomach is fading away and you’re just happy to be with friends. 

_So this is what you’ve been missing. Well, better make up for it now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I am so very, very sorry this update took forever. We're in the last two months of school, which means studying, writing papers, and taking IB tests for me, so updates will be very slow. It can't be helped, and for that I am sorry, but I will not abandon this story. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading it and for all the nice comments you've left, and I hope you continue to enjoy it :)


	8. Chapter 8

Near the end of your meeting, Lenalee stepped up and made sure you got Allen Walker’s phone number, email, and skype name. That’s a normal thing between friends, right? So why did your heart practically sing? 

That was over two weeks ago. You still have not done anything with this information, aside from entering it into your phone. But on more than one account you have laid on your bed and just stared at his name in your contacts, wanting to send him a text, start a conversation, but not knowing how. 

It’s not like you do not know how to talk to someone, and you’re normally not too shy about starting a conversation, but when it comes to Allen, you don’t even know to begin. What do you have in common? What do you even know about him?

White hair. Scar. Long sleeves. Gloves. Dances. Music always on. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Believes gender is a social construct. Doesn’t like being constantly hit on. Tunes the world out. Good with food. Easy to talk to. Thankful for that night at the party. Doesn’t like Kanda (mutually). 

Not much. You don’t know much about Allen Walker. And you don’t like that. You don’t like that at all. 

But how does one go about learning things about other people? Twenty questions? You really should have gone to high school…that’s when people make “friends that last a life time”, that has to be a great place to gain social skills. And as much as you don’t want to admit it, you’re a bit lacking in that department. 

The only reason you know things about Kanda is because you’re roommates, and Lenalee because she came up to you and started talking. Everyone else you just watch and listen. It does work (and you are very good at it), but you don’t think it’s the best way to meet people, especially considering eaves dropping is highly frowned upon in modern society. (Also considering you sometimes you find out things you didn’t want to know, like that time you were in the library freshman year. Sometimes you still think about it and want to throw up.)

You wish you could be more like Lenalee. Or more like how you were as a child. 

You used to feel so free, ready to take on the world, especially those summer with your grandfather. You faintly remember making friends easily and not being afraid of other people, but that stopped being your reality when your mother picked out a pretty white dress with a huge pink bow on the back and told you to wear it and be the pretty little daughter she loved so much. 

It made you sick. 

Everything she did made you sick, but you didn’t know it then. It just sat within your chest as a discomfort, piling up more and more, as you said nothing to her. Instead of standing up, of screaming “I am your son” or “I can’t live like this anymore”, you closed your mouth with a whisper of “yes, mama”. 

It hurt so much.

The older you grew, the farther you curled into yourself, believing that you were broken, unworthy of love or friendship, forgetting how to trust people, let alone talk to them. What if they saw you as she did? What if the world placed you upon a scale, weighed your very soul and declared you unfit to live?

You were so scared of everyone around you knowing. 

Your mother hit you. What would other people do?

The summer after you left her, you had nightmares about that white dress. It was burning, and blood soaked to match your hair. You would wake up screaming, surprised you were alive and trying to forget the look of disgust on your mother’s face. 

_So many bad memories._

You sit up on your bed and glance again at the phone in your hand. What had started as an attempt to gain the knowledge of how to text Allen Walker (and the courage to actually do it) ended in you remembering things from a lifetime ago, nightmares you want to forget and feelings you are scared to ever feel again. Either you’re distracting yourself from the problem at hand or you’re trying to blame your inability to do something so simple as text a new friend on the social scars you gained in the past. Probably both. 

You let out a large sigh and press your phone to your forehead. What you wouldn’t give to know how to start conversations like you used to. Defeated, bored, and ignoring the slightly embarrassed burning feeling in your chest, you send a message to Lenalee instead. 

_‘How do you do it.’_

_‘You’re going to have to elaborate.’_

_‘You just talk to people.’_

_‘You do that too, Lavi._  
_I think you are far more social than you give yourself credit for.’_

_‘I know_  
_But its east when its spontaneous_  
_*easy_  
_Plus, just talking to someone all trivial like is way different from like specifically seeking them out and trying to befriend them._  
_Like, in a social setting its easy, but one on one im just a ball of awk. and i dont want to do this.’_

_‘Still haven’t texted Allen?’_

_‘WHY IS IT SO HARD????_  
_I can talk to you just fine!_  
_I can even start a conversation with Kanda!’_

_‘Well, you don’t have a crush on us.’_

_‘Wjat._  
_Wahr_  
_WHAT**’_

_‘A friend crush at least._  
_And I’ve seen you talk to Allen._  
_It was fluid, comfortable, like you were old friends._  
_You need to stop worrying so much on starting the conversation and focus more on just talking to him. He likes talking to you.’_

_‘How do you figure?’_

_‘Well for one he looked happier and more comfortable around you._  
_I think he smiled more._  
_I’m not as good as you at this, but I am an actor._  
_I can read people fairly well I think.’_

_‘Did he?’_

_‘Lavi._  
_Trust me_.  
_If people don’t like you, they normally don’t stick around.’_

_‘Nice people do._  
_The ones who dont want to hurt you._  
_And people who dont know the truth._  
_But im not worried bout that w/ him._  
_He seams open minded about all that jazz.’_

_‘Lavi, you are creating your own demons where they do not exist._  
_Please, just text him._  
_It won’t hurt just to try._  
_Don’t think on it, just do it._  
_Ask him to coffee or something.’_

_‘Lena, im not aasking him out i just want to get to know him better.’_

_‘If you’re not asking him out then stop being a whiny little baby, buckle your pants, and just DO IT._  
_If you don’t, I’ll text him and tell him to go to your room because you’re too shy.’_

_‘You are like the aggressive older sister i never asked for._  
_But who i got anyway._  
_Ill try but no promises.’_

_‘Good Luck.’_

. . .  
. . . .  
. . . . .  
. . . . . .  
You’ve got nothing.

Absolutely nothing. Once again you are staring at his name, the new message box blinking, blinking, blinking waiting for you to type something. Anything. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

“Why is this so hard?” You half groan, half whine and stretch your arms above your head, effectively dropping your phone onto your face. 

“Lovely.” With another groan you regrab your phone, wondering when you’ll learn not to text above your head because sooner or later you end up dropping your phone on the floor, bed, or in rare cases your face. 

Upon looking at it’s screen you see the one thing you truly never wanted to see. A message to Allen Walker. A message. From you. Sent. To Allen Walker. 

_‘mejfkdi’_

It is not elegant, witty, meaningful, or anything like what you wanted to send as your first message. It is in fact, exactly what you did not want to end up sending to him. 

Your life is a disaster and you are now going to die from either embarrassment, blood rushing to your face, complete horror, or all three. 

_Oh God, please don’t answer your phone, please don’t answer your phone, this isn’t happening._

_‘Lavi?’_

Damn it. 

You practically jump up, curling over the small glowing screen, clutching it tightly. A part of you hopes it breaks. Allen Walker texted you. In response to _‘mejfkdi’._

What in the world do you say now????

“Ha. Ha. Ha… This would happen.” 

_‘Hey Allen.’_

There. Easy. A ‘hello’. 

_‘mejfkdi?’_

Boom, there it is. 

_‘I dropped my phone on my face.’_

Why are you telling him this. 

_‘You…_  
_dropped your phone…_  
_on your face._  
_And somehow texted me?’_

_‘Well I was already on your name,  
I just couldn’t figure out what to say.’ _

What are you doing. Stop talking. 

_‘um.’_

_‘OKAY THAT SOUNDS WEIRD._  
_SORRY._  
_I’M JUST GONNA_  
_STOP TEXTING YOU NOW._  
_FOREVER._  
_BYE.’_

That’s it. You are going to drop your phone off the top of a building and move to another state. 

_‘Lavi.’_

Nope. You are not going to answer him.

_‘Lavi._  
_LAVI.’_

You are just going to sit here and have an existential crisis. 

_‘Fine._  
_You live in room 216 right?_  
_You better ‘cause I’m coming over.’_

What.

_‘What?_  
_How do you know where I live?’_

_‘Ah so you are alive_.  
_See you in a few.’_

_‘Allen._  
_Allen!_  
_ALLEN!!!’_

Crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Thank you again for reading, and while this chapter came quickly, break is ending so updates will be slower again. I promise this story is actually going somewhere soon.


	9. Chapter 9

One minute and fifty-three seconds. 

That’s how long it takes before you hear a knock at your door. 

Ten seconds. 

That’s how long it takes for you to sum up the courage to answer the door. 

This is so not like you. It’s uncomfortable. You have no reason to be this worked up. 

Five seconds. 

That’s how long you stand behind the door.

Three seconds.

That’s how long it takes you to open the door.

One second and a smile. 

That’s how long it takes for you to realize Lenalee was right. 

You may have a very small crush on Allen Walker.


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey, Lavi.” 

He says your name with a soft smile and curious eyes, holding his phone in one gloved hand and his head phones in the other. His fingers twitch slightly; he’s still not one-hundred percent comfortable with you, but he’s far better than he was at that party. At least you’re both in the same-ish boat. 

“Hey, Allen.” 

A beat.

A crooked grin with mischievous intent. 

You glare. _Don’t you dare._

“Is it ‘me-jif-kay-dee’ or ‘mej-fik-die’?” 

You answer him with another groan and cover your face, letting your very long bangs hide your embarrassed flushing. He laughs and you blush harder, which probably only makes him laugh more. 

“How did you know where my room was?” A diversion, an attempt to step away from your embarrassment. It’s not working.

“I saw Kanda coming in here once, well around here. The floor layouts match, and I’m right above this room, so I guessed.” He twists his headphone cord around his fingers. “I’m glad I guessed right.” 

“And here I was thinking Lenalee told you.”

“I suppose I could have asked her to check…” 

“Yeah.”

Silence. Awkward silence to boot. 

_Do you want to come in? Did you come here for any reason aside from mocking me? What were you listening to before you knocked? Why are you still wearing gloves?_

“Um, would you like to go on a walk with me? I was thinking of going alone, but if you’re not doing anything, we could go together.” You can’t tell which of you is worse at maintaining eye contact. “Maybe if you go out and clear your head you can think of what you wanted to text me?” 

Allen smiles again at you, sweetly. He’s not trying to make fun of you (much), he’s more curious and supportive. You think. You hope.

“I’m not sure if that will help.” You shake your head a bit, mainly trying to shift you hair out of your face. You love it, you really do, but when it’s not held back by something it’s really long and in your face and annoying. 

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll come.” You try not to sound too elated. “I mean, all I have going for me right now is staring at Calculus and waiting for Kanda to come back and yell at me again for putting glitter in his shampoo, so I probably should leave.”

“Oh my god, that was you?” Allen’s eyes widen and his voice drops to a whisper. “Lavi, his hair has been glittery for a week.” 

“Shhhh….” You give him a wink. “Nobody sees, nobody knows.” 

“I’m pretty sure everybody saw, so everyone knows by that logic.” 

“But no one knows it was me.”

“You’re his only roommate.”

“Shh… take your fancy logic elsewhere.”

Allen rolls his eyes. “Well, then come with me. We’ll both be on a walk to avoid something.” 

You give him a nod and open the closet, grabbing your very well loved (almost falling apart) orange converse. “What are you avoiding?” 

“The people across the hall rented _The Notebook, Titanic, Return to Me,_ and _P.S. I Love You_. They are going to be crying for a few hours, and I don’t want to hear it. Again. Last weekend they were a mess over _Silver Linings Playbook_ and _Something Borrowed_.”

“Why are they renting sad movies?” You throw your headband into your hair, giving yourself the gift of non-obstructed sight and grab your room key. 

“Coping of some sort?” Allen stops talking as someone walks by, waiting until they are out of earshot before continuing. “I’m not one to gossip, but I think someone’s girlfriend left them. If I’m being honest, I actually prefer the crying to the… other sounds coming from their room. I lost track of how many times I saw them making out in the hall.” 

You follow Allen, letting him guide you out of the building, then fall into a steady pace next to him. You keep glancing at him, his face, trying to read his emotions, his thoughts, everything about him.

“Guess _that’s_ what you should expect in a Co-ed building.” 

“I’m pretty sure _that’s_ not allowed.” 

You shrug and stretch your arms above your head. “People live to break the rules.”

“Then they should just put on their dancing shoes, go to the discotheque, and get wrecked.” There is a beat in his voice, a flow to his words. 

“What? Pull a _Footloose_?”

“Totally.” A small smile tugs on his mouth. “My high school was right next to an old abandoned Hienz factory. You don’t even know how tempted I was to start an uprising.” 

“Heh, I can guess.” _A dance uprising_. Maybe you know a bit more than he thinks you do. It almost makes you feel guilty. 

“Did you really skip high school?” He asks, turning to you just slightly. 

“Yep. I barely finished 8th grade, to be honest. Not because of grades or anything; I’ve always been a great student.” How do you word this? “There were just some… issues… and complications that had to be taken care of.” 

“You don’t need to explain yourself.” Allen’s hand comes up to his face and brushes at his bangs, as if he was trying to hide behind them. As if he was trying to hide the scar on his face.

_He knows what it’s like to be afraid of people’s eyes. Their comments and cruel expressions. He probably had more than his share already._

“I think you’re lucky. High school was horrible.”

You agree with him, at least you thought for a long time going would have only made you miserable. You really didn’t want to risk all the names, hate, and possible abuse. It scared you. 

“Best four years of your life?” You humor him anyway.

“Ha. If you’re really into the school, people, sports, rallies, homecoming, popularity, prom, have money, and basically live your life like Clueless, then high school rocks. For anyone else it ranges from horrible to tolerable-leaning-toward-good at best.”

“Ouch.”

“What did you do instead? Home-schooled?”

“Yeah. My grandfather was a university professor for a while and had no problems with teaching me. Though his requirements were I would go to college and he only used advanced courses. Which was good, I guess, like I said, I’m a great student.”

“Prodigy, genius? Smart all your life?”

“A perfect iconic memory. With an almost perfect echoic memory.” You take his mild confused expression as a need for clarification. “I can remember anything I see in perfect detail and almost remember anything I hear.”

“That’s cheating.” 

You laugh. “Even when I was born this way?” 

“Hey, there's nothin' wrong with lovin' who you are, ‘cause He made you perfectly, but that’s still not fair.” 

“Did you just quote Lady Gaga at me?”

“I did.” Allen’s completely smiling now. He has a really nice smile. It kind of makes you want to melt or punch yourself in the face. Maybe both. “Most people don’t notice when I do that. Reference songs.”

“Well Born this Way is an anthem, so I would be shamed not to know it. Plus you nearly sang the line.”

“Hey Lavi!”

You’re quickly drawn out of the bubble you were in, blissfully ignoring everything outside of your white haired companion, and brought back into the real world to find a few people from your dorm floor last year calling out you.

“Friends of yours?” You barely notice it, but Allen just slightly recoils from them.

“Eh, acquaintances. We lived on the same floor, but they tended to stay away from Kanda and by extension, me. They were always really loud. I couldn’t even tell you their favorite colors. Well, Lucy’s hair was green last year, so maybe it’s green?”

“Yes, because hair color often matches favorite colors. Do you like red?” Such a sweet, evil smirking expression. 

“Yes, I do, actually. Do you like white?” You match his sass perfectly. 

A light laugh. “Do you at least know their names?”

“Yeah, um… Hannah… Lucy… Sieger… and Michael?”

A blank stare and a slight smirk. 

“Oh, hush.” A large smile plants itself on your face, and you can almost feel a mask fall into place. The mask you wore around everyone who you didn’t know. The mask that protects you. 

“Hey.” A chill, lopsided grin and a fist bump. How classic, Sieg, how classic. “Did you hear it’s gonna get warmer next weekend?” 

“We were thinking about doing one more beach day before it got too cold.” Michael smiles. Not at you, but at Hannah. Are they dating? You think so… For someone who prides himself on his memory, you can’t recall much about them. “Are you game, Lavi?”

“It’s September, Mike. A bit late for swimsuit season.” 

“It is never too late until it’s snowing.”

Laughter. It’s not forced, being social is easy. A breath, a smile, a laugh. 

“You can bring your friend too.” A smile and a wink at Allen. He politely smiles back but you can see the tension in his eyes. Hannah licks her lips. Allen tugs on the earbuds dangling out of his pocket. 

“You didn’t come at any of our summer beach days, so you should totally come.” 

“That sounds super fun, Lucy. I think I have to help Lenalee with the play next weekend, but I’ll talk to her.” 

“And what about you, darling? It’s gonna be a huge group of people, anyone can come!” 

“I’ll think about it.” Allen’s smile clearly showed he was not going to think about it.

“Awesome! See you ‘round then, Lavi and friend!” 

“Wow, Lucy, could have gotten his name if you were gonna flirt with him.”

“Shut up, Seiger.”

They walk away, laughing again. They’re not mean people, you just don’t know them that well. 

“So… you have no intention of going.” Allen comments. 

“I don’t do events that require me to be shirtless.” You don’t need the looks, the questions, the comments, the jokes, the snickering, anything that comes from having thin scars on your chest. Although you like the scars far more than the alternative. Way more. Scars remind you of the struggle, but at least you don’t have the urge to break mirrors when you get out of the shower. 

“Same.” Gloved hands and long sleeves, you think you understand. 

You get the feeling you and Allen Walker are the alike. That you know a similar pain and have the similar secrets. You know the smile he wears, you know the way he hides behind a mask, you see the small movements he makes to protect himself, you know them all by heart because you’ve used them all your life. 

“I also don’t have to help Lenalee, so if you’re not doing anything we should do something.” Why are you saying things like this today? “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I’d like that.” A soft smile. A real smile. His eyes light up. You die a little inside. 

“So. Do you want to do anything on this walk or literally just walk around the campus?”

“I didn’t really have anything mind.”

“Then let’s walk. Maybe grab lunch. Get my caffeine fix on.” 

“Oh are you one of those people?”

“Those people?”

“The ‘I’ve been drinking coffee since the 6th grade and now it’s like heroine, get an IV and just hook me up’.” You like his very dramatic air quotes. 

“Do people really act like that?”

“Oh, I forgot, you didn’t go to high school.”

“Is that going to be your punchline for me?”

“Probably.”

A smirk. A small, gentle smirk. How can Allen’s eyes look so kind and mischievous at the same time?

“No, I’m not an addict, thank you. But I think we could all use an energy pick-me-up once in a while.” 

“I can respect that.”

You almost blurt out “I really like that about you” but catch yourself just in time. You’ve embarrassed yourself more than enough for today. So instead you swallow your words and enjoy walking with Allen Walker, taking about this and that, trying to learn more about him without prying, and trying not to obnoxiously crush on this white haired boy. 

“So, Allen, what is your favorite color?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this done way sooner than I expected. Please don't expect that for the next chapter. Also, sorry about chapter nine, but I really felt it needed to stand alone. 
> 
> Thank you for all the nice comments and kudos, and I promise more is to come. 
> 
> Also, cookies to everyone who gets all the pop culture references.


	11. Chapter 11

_Sunday._

“You have a crush.”

“I am very well aware, Lenalee. Very well aware. Now, how do I deal with it?”

“Do you want him to like you back?”

“I… I don’t know?”

“Well, if you do, you woo him.”

“Woo him?”

“Woo him.”

“And how does one go about wooing someone?”

“I don’t know. My brother was too protective to let anyone even think about dating me. But normally it’s things they like, and dates, flowers, chocolate, gifts, hugs, whatever makes them happy.”

“I see. And how does a broke college student go about wooing someone?” 

“Make them happy.”

\---

_Tuesday._

_Make them happy._

Her words keep echoing in your head, and her question.

_Do you want him to like you back?_

You wish you had the answer. 

To be in a relationship with someone… you give them everything. Everything about you. Ideally, there are no secrets, or few at least. They get to look at you like no one else does, an open book, and you let them in with a smile. At least that is what the ideal relationship should be. Peaceful acceptance and coexistence. 

Acceptance. 

Such an important word.

You trust him. You really do. You think if you opened up to him and told him your story, he would be okay and accept you. You really think so. But somewhere deep in the back of your mind you are terrified. 

You are absolutely terrified of people hurting you once they know the truth. 

Does it hurt to live a life hiding a big part of who you are? Yes. Does it hurt less than hatred, rejection, and insults? No. Hell No. To the world, you are male, born and living, and that’s all that matters. 

But Allen is not your mother. _But anyone could be._ He even said gender is a social construct. _People lie._ Your grandfather accepted you. _Maybe you just reminded him of your father._ Why are you still so afraid? _That little voice in your head weaves you such pretty thorned roses._

You don’t want to listen to it, but it’s a radio broadcast you can’t turn off. A continuous stream of mild fears eating away at your mind right before you fall asleep. At least you don’t have nightmares like you used to. 

You don’t like waking up afraid. 

You don’t like being afraid.

Afraid of every person around you. Because you don’t know what they’ll do. Because you don’t know who’s lying and who’s telling the truth. Your whole life could be an elaborate game, with you the clueless pawn, like _The Truman Show._

_Stop it. You’re being irrational. You’re scaring yourself for no reason._

You leave your books at you desk (you can’t study in this state of mind anyway), turn on your rain, and force yourself to sleep, praying you’ll leave your fears outside of your head.

\---

_Thursday._

“I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“You _like_ the beansprout.” You almost choke on your soda. 

Somehow you convinced Kanda and Allen to both come to lunch with you and Lenalee. Meaning you invited them both without telling the other. In your defense, you had never seen them interact before and you wanted to see just how bad it was. 

The tension in the air was tangible. 

They did not get along very well, but mostly they tried to ignore each other. Allen talked mostly to you and Lenalee, and Kanda only spoke to Lenalee. He’s probably a little mad at you. But Kanda’s always a little mad at everyone. It wasn’t so bad, but both of them kept throwing jibes at each other. Okay, they were mostly from Kanda, but Allen was quick to retort and not completely innocent in the “starting a fight” category. 

You think a fight would have started if Allen didn’t have to meet with someone to discuss something about being sent someone else’s bills and fines. 

“It is that obvious?”

“You do look happier when you’re around him.” Lenalee chimes in. 

“I look happier when I’m around you two than when I’m alone.”

“Not like this.”

“Really?” You massage your temples and let out a sigh. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Ugh, if you’re just going to be daydreaming about romance, I’m going to be leaving.” Kanda tries to stand up, but you grab his arm. 

“No, Kanda, we’re bonding as a group.” You whine, throwing your head onto his shoulder. 

Kanda makes a disgusted face. “Get off.”

“Kanda, please stay?” Lenalee gives him a smile and he shoves you off.

“Rude.” A glare. “Please don’t kill me.” 

“How much do you know about him?” Lenalee asks, stirring her drink. “It’s important to know about others. For example, _if he likes you back._ ”

“Or why he has a scar on his face.”

“I don't know much. I don’t want to ask some stuff. I mean, I do. It’s killing me not to ask him about his gloves or scar or hair, but I have things I don’t want to be asked, so I can respect people’s privacy.” You sigh. “At least I want to try to. But I really wanna ask him. Especially the scar. And the hair.” 

“Maybe it’s full of secrets.”

A completely monotone comment.

A beat. 

Lenalee blinks. 

You snort. 

Then you’re laughing so hard, you lean forward, hands wrapped around your stomach and your head hits the table. You can’t breathe, your sides ache, and you’re in hysterics. Lenalee is way past her normal laugh and you glance at her just in time to see her almost fall off her chair. 

“K-Kanda!” 

“Did you just, oh god, I can’t- can’t breathe!”

“Quote _M-Mean Girls_?” 

“I am _dying_!” 

“Oh, shut up.” Kanda stands up, leaving you and Lenalee laughing too hard to follow him.

\---

_Monday._

You have reached a new level of low. You’re taking your hat off to yourself. You’re officially a stalker. No, you’re not stalking him. To prove it you quickly type the word into your phone.

_Stalk - er. noun. a person who stealthily hunts or pursues an animal or another person._

Okay, you’re not “hunting” him. You didn’t follow him here. You just walked into the library, looking for a book, of your own free will and personal agenda and happen to see Allen Walker at one of the tables studying. And instead of going up to him and saying “hi” like a normal person, you’re now hiding behind the bookshelf stealing glances. That’s not a stalker. That’s just being a creep. A twenty-one year old creep who doesn’t know how to deal with the fact he has a crush on a white haired eighteen year old.

You’re going to punch yourself in the face. 

Okay. Just walk over there. Ask him if the seat across from him is taken. Just like he did at the coffee shop that one day.

_But you don’t want to break his concentration. He looks really into whatever subject that is, he’s mouthing the words as he reads._

No… he’s not. 

His lips don’t move like sentences, they’re not steady. There’s awkward pauses, sometimes it looks like he’s stretching out the word. 

_Oh my god he’s lip syncing. That's adorable._

You almost yelp as your phone vibrates in your pocket. 

_L-cubed:_  
_‘Lavi, you wouldn’t happen to be in the library would you?’_

Crap. 

_‘Lenalee what would ever give you that idea.’_

Is she here somewhere? You glance around quickly, but don’t spot anyone with hair as long as Lenalee’s. 

_‘That is the only place I can think of where you be and then forget we were supposed to meet up.’_

_‘Oh crap_  
_Was that today_  
_Sorry ill come over rn’_

_‘It’s fine, I’ve already left. Stay and enjoy your book, I’m going to find Kanda and see if he’ll help me pick out a monologue for auditions.’_

_‘Are you sure you dont need help stuyding?_  
_*studying_  
_I dont mind_  
_I can really leave_  
_Lenalee please make me leave’_

_‘What are you doing?’_

_‘I am hiding behind a bookshelf full of foreign language books, staring at Allen Walker.’_

_‘OMG._  
_You have a problem.’_

_‘I KNOW.’_

_‘I don’t know whether I should find this funny or embarrassing._  
_You’re like a walking, talking bad romcom.’_

_‘If real life was like a romcom most people would be arrested for stalking_  
_Dear god i AM a stalker_  
_Lenalee help im a creepy 21yo stalking a 18yo_  
_Look at my life_  
_Look at it_  
_I am a mess’_

_‘I haven’t seen you this dramatic since you got in that fight with that guy last year.’_

_‘HE WAS QUOTING THE HISTORY CHANNEL LENALEE._  
_HE WAS ARGUING ALIENS WHEREE BEHUIND THE ASSASSINATINO OF AUSTRIAN ARCHDUKE FRANZ FERDINAND_  
_ALEINS LENALEE_  
_ALIENS_  
_WAT EVER’_

_‘Omg calm down._  
_I’m sorry I brought it up._  
_Anyhoo, I’m going to go._  
_And I just texted Allen to look up._  
_You’re welcome.’_

_‘LENALEE WAHT’_

You snap your head up with enough force to hurt your head a little. You watch him reach for his phone and you could run, you have the time to run away, but you don’t. Instead you watch his eyes scan over the screen and his head lift, scanning the area, in front of him. He doesn’t seam to see you. Some part of you is almost disappointed that he doesn’t. 

You could leave. 

But his lips fall ever so slightly, as if he’s sad not to see something. You randomly grab a book off the shelf, pray seeing that expression wasn’t just wishful thinking, and step out from the shelves. 

His smile glows. Oh my god your heart can’t take this. 

“Lavi!” 

“Hey, Allen. Mind if I sit with you?” _His smile, his smile, his smile, his smile._

“Not at all.” 

You sit across from him and glance at the title of his book. 

“ _The Ethics of Authenticity_? What is it?" 

“Charles’ Taylor’s book to bring back society and authenticity from it’s debased forms.” You blink at him. “It’s for philosophy.” 

“Oh. You’re taking philosophy?” 

“Yes. I took it in high school, so the class isn’t hard. And what are you reading today?” 

That’s actually a good question. You look at the cover and see French. Good, at least it’s a language you know. 

“ _L’Eau des Collines: Jean de Florette et Manon des Sources_.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“It says _The Water of the Hills: Jean of Florette and Manon of the Springs._ " 

“You can read… that?” 

“It’s French, and yes I can. I’m really good with languages. I think I’m up to, like, seven? Five I am fluent in, speech and reading-slash-writing, and two I can read but I’m still learning how to speak.” 

“Wow.” Allen looks impressed, which is understandable. You don’t know many people your age who can understand seven languages. In fact, you don’t know anyone else, regardless of age, aside from your grandfather. 

“Yeah, I was taught from a pretty young age. I’d already had Latin and Italian down by the time I started French. My most recent endeavors are non-Latin based languages, ‘cause once you know a handful of Latin based languages, the others aren’t that hard to learn. But making the jump into, like, Russian, Mandarin, or Japanese is harder.” 

“Well, color me impressed, again, Lavi.” Allen’s smile is probably the best thing on the planet. Just saying. _God you need help._

“I’m just good at learning stuff.” 

Allen’s phone buzzes, and he sighs, excusing himself to go to class. 

“I’ll see you later then.” He waves as he walks away, grinning, and you hope you’re not blushing. He wasn’t asking if he’d see you later, he was stating he would see you later. 

“I am going to have a nervous break down.” 

_\---_

_Friday._

“Told you this would happen.”

“Shut up, Lavi.” 

You laugh and step back, before Daisya takes a swing at your head. 

“This would only happen to you.”

“Oh, I can think of a few people who this would happen to.” 

“Get their soccer bag locked inside the professor’s room on a friday? Nope, that’s a Daisya special.” You shake your head. “Why don’t you go find someone who has a key?”

“Why don’t you? You’re just standing here mocking me, and you don’t have a soccer scholarship anyone can take away.”

“I doubt they take away scholarships for little mistakes. Plus I would feel bad leaving you without someone to tease you; Kanda would never forgive me.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re already permanently on his shit list for the glitter thing.”

“Yes, but it was worth it. I almost died that day, but it was worth it.”

“How are you ever going to top yourself?” He keeps fiddling with the handle, as if by sheer will power it will open and his problems would go away. 

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” You fold your arms over your head. “Unlike you. If that didn’t work the first seventy times, what makes you think it will work the seventy-first?”

“Either help me, or leave.” Daisya sends you a sneer and you shrug your shoulders. “I’m going to be late to practice and get my ass whipped.”

“Hey, Lavi.” You spin on your heels so fast you almost topple over.

“Allen~!” You know you’re wearing a stupid grin right now, but you can’t help it. You’ve been trying to for the past two weeks, but he just makes you light up.

“Um, what are you doing?” He glances at Daisya, his face pressed up to the lock, murmuring something akin to profanities. 

“Ah, this. It’s not as sketchy as it looks I promise.” 

“Is he trying to break into Professor Tiedoll’s room?” 

“Okay, it is as sketchy as it looks, but he has a good reason.” 

“Mmm hmm.”

“Lavi! Lose the stiff!”

“Stiff?” Allen crosses his arms in an offended manner.

“Daisya, this is Allen Walker. Allen, this is Diasya Barry. He left his bag in there and has been desperately trying to get it for the last fifteen minutes.” 

“Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?” Allen flips open his bag and reaches into a side pocket, pulling out a bundle.

“Excuse me.” Diasya glances up at Allen, a bored look of disbelief on his face. “It wouldn’t hurt to let me try, right?” 

Diasya sighs and trades places with Allen, moving to stand next to you, arms crossed. You’re both watching him, as he elegantly drops before the lock. 

_Fifteen seconds._ You count them in your head. 

“Done.” Allen stands up, shoving the bundle into his pocket and turning the handle. The door opens with a faint click.

“What?” Diasya voiced the same thoughts going through your head. 

“Don’t ask questions, and don’t spread rumors. Get your bag and leave.” There is a new tone to Allen’s voice, tougher, more in control; one that sounds like he’s seen demons and he spoke to them. 

“Diasya.” You nudge him with your shoulder. “Aren’t you going to be late?” 

“Y-yeah. Thanks.” Diasya bolts in and out the room faster than you’ve ever seen him move. 

Allen waits until Diasya’s out of sight before he drops back in front of the door and fiddles with the lock again. You lean over his shoulder, watching him slide two metal pieces into the lock. Okay, you want to respect his privacy and secrets, but you just have to ask. It’s the researcher in you. 

“So, you can pick locks?”

“Yep.” 

“You don’t seem like the type.”

Allen stands up, replacing the bundle in his bag. “Most of the time, the people who know how to do things ‘don’t look like the type’.” 

“Can I ask where you learned?”

“I just picked it up. It’s a survival skill when you live on the streets or get ‘accidentally’ locked out of your own house a lot.” 

“Oh.” You weren’t expecting that. At all. Allen Walker didn’t look or act like someone with that kind of background. “Um.”

Allen sighs. “Why do you hold back?” 

“I’m sorry?” He’s not looking at you, he’s staring at the ground, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

“No one ever holds back. Every time I meet someone there are whispers. Then questions. Invasive questions because they want to know the story behind everything from my hair to my long sleeves. Do you know how many times I’ve been asked why I ‘dyed my hair white’.” He looks up at you. His eyes look sad. It makes your heart hurt. “You don’t ask. You never ask. And to tell you the truth, it kind of scares me. Because I’ve learned how to handle people asking questions, but I don’t know how to handle this.”

Allen shift in front of you, and looks back at the ground.

You’re not sure what to say, really. 

“Sorry. I should go.” He moves to leave but you stop him, gently pulling on the strap of his bag to keep him here. You don’t want him to leave like that. You want to understand, and you want him to understand. 

“I hold back because I know what it’s like. People asking questions you don’t want to answer.” You’re trying to form words in your head, make sense of all the thoughts you want to get out, filter out what you need to say, what you want to say, and what you’re afraid to say. “That’s why I’m not asking. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“Thank you, for the thought.” He stays facing away from you, but he doesn’t move to leave. You let go of his bag.

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. I really want to know, but I’m not going to make you tell me anything.” An idea rushes into your head, and you hope it won’t shoot you in the foot, because it’s out of your mouth faster than you can process it. “Let’s swap secrets.”

“What?” That gets him to turn back around, and you search his face for an emotion, only to find a twisting mosaic of thousands. 

“We both have things we don’t want to tell people, let’s swap one. And then next time we hang out, we can play twenty questions. We can trade secrets. You learn about me, I learn about you.”

Part of you is screaming in fear. You don’t want to tell him everything, you don’t want to open up to him. What will he say, what will he do, what will he ask. Telling the wrong person could destroy your world, you know the campus is inclusive, but you’re so far in hiding, you can’t step out. It scares you to think that anyone could be your mother, anyone could strike you for being who you are. 

The other part of you is screaming in a different kind of fear. You don’t want to appear so pushy and needy, eager to take in his secrets. Trust is hard to build, but you want him to trust you, just as much as you want to trust him. You really want to trust him.

“I was an orphan until I was seven. I lived on the streets most of the time. That’s where I learned to pick locks.”

You blink, taking in every word, and the underlying message. _I accept._

“My mother disowned me when I was fifteen. That’s why I lived with my grandfather.” 

Neither of you say anything, but you both stand there for a minute, as if you’re trying to say something but can’t find the words. How do you genteelly tell someone you’re sorry their life was complete shit? You can’t. So you let the silence flow between you, wishing you could tell him everything you were thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whelp i'm not extremely pleased with this (I'm blaming the stress of testing all this month), but i finally got the guts up to post this chapter. As always, thank you again for reading and for all the nice comments, and look! Angsty-ness! We're getting to something!


	12. Chapter 12

Mid-October brings cold winds and your scarf once again becomes your best friend. Kanda scoffs at it when you wrap the large orange cloth around your shoulders, snuggling into it’s warmth.

“Isn’t that thing falling apart?”

“That’s what makes it nine times more lovable.”

“You disturb me.” 

You giggle lightly and look outside to see rain. It’s a good day, rainy days are always good days. Rainy days where you got to wear your favorite scarf? Even better! You smile and spin around, making Kanda roll his eyes and look at the clock. 

“You’re going to be late.” 

“What if I just didn’t go? What if instead I ran in the rain, or made tea and read a good book, or--”

“Lavi, go to class or so help me--”

“Fine! Don’t need to be rude you know.” You pick up your bag, go to the door, and blow Kanda a kiss (he throws his pen at you in response). You laugh as you leave. 

When you get outside the first thing you do it throw your head up and let the rain fall on your face, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. You let out a low sigh and spread out your arms, loving the way the rain drops fall on your skin and roll down your cheeks. You love it. You love it so much. 

Rain is pure, fresh, reviving; it’s absolutely exhilarating. The rain knocks the pollution from the air, leaving a fresh smell at every breath. It allows flowers to blossom and plant life to flourish. It rained the first day you wore your binder. You remember it, running out into your grandfather’s backyard without feeling the slight bouncing weight of your chest, spinning around and around letting the rain hit you. When you fell over, dizzy and smiling, the sky was still crying, and you were too - tears of pure bliss. For the first time in years, you were alive. 

The rain reminds you of that feeling. Shedding your old feelings, renewing your life, becoming the person you are today. Of course you still had (have) your crashes and bad days, but the rain is always there for you to wash that all away. 

“That’s how people get sick.” A familiar voice greets you, followed by the soft splashes of foot steps. 

Allen walks up next to you, twirling a large black umbrella above his head. You smile at his words. 

“You only get sick if you give in.” 

Allen chuckles, raising his umbrella higher and moving it to cover your head. “I am sure that is not how the immune system works.”

“A positive attitude can go a long way, Allen. Haven’t you ever read _The Secret_?” You jump out from the cover and spread out your arms to the sky. Allen roles his eyes.

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m still right. There are a lot of studies that show having a positive out look on life and just saying you won’t get sick can prevent it from happening. Also, people who carry a lot of negative energy, like racists or homophobes, get sick more easily because of all the bad vibes. Their bad attitude literally makes their immune system weaker because they’re stressed out all the time.” 

“Are you messing with me?” 

“Not one bit. Lenalee read a paper on it in her psychology class.”

“Okay, you may be right but I do know getting soaked and then sitting in those wet clothes for a few hours is not good for the body.” Allen again offers you a spot under his umbrella. “And I like you energetic and talkative, it wouldn’t be any fun if you were sick.” 

You can feel your face heat up and not even the cold falling water can cool you down. Allen takes your momentary flustered appearance to come closer and cover you with the umbrella again. _He’s standing really close. It makes your heart skip a beat._

You take a deep breath, trying to shift your focus from how close Allen Walker is standing and the fact he said he liked you _energetic and talkative._

“Energetic and talkative?” You repeat the words, laughing lightly. “Eat your heart out, Kanda.”

Allen winks at you with a grin. “Yes, you are energetic and talkative incarnate. Even more so today.” 

“It’s the rain. It makes me feel alive.” You slick one of your hand out from the umbrella, letting the rain splatter on your skin and sleeve as you walk. 

Allen smiles a little sullenly and you spend the rest of your walk in idle chatter. Allen takes you up to the door of your class’ building, saying he still had some time before his next class. You can’t help but notice if this was a movie or TV show, this would be the part where you kiss. Instead Allen bumps your shoulder lightly and tells you not to stand out in the rain too much. You walk into the class a few seconds before it starts and spend most of the time staring out the window.

\---

“I have hot chocolates for Allen and Lerry and Melaine!” 

Allen fails to hold back his laughter, while you place your face in your palms and Lenalee picks up your order. 

“You would think that we come here enough for them to know our names by now.” You grumble, watching Allen wipe tears from his eyes.

“That would require them getting it right at least once.” Lenalee answers, talking her hot chocolate and umbrella, getting ready to go back into the rain storm. 

“Why are they even making you go into the theatre today?” You shiver and squeeze the ends of your scarf again, earning a dirty look from the barista. “I’ll stop when you get my name right.” 

“Someone has to tell everyone else what to do. A stage manager gets no rest.” 

“Good luck, Lenalee.” Allen says, his laughter finally subsiding into manageable giggles.

“Same, break a leg L-cubed. And I hope you don’t have to redo everything again!” 

Lenalee lets out a pained laugh and grimaces. “Thanks… see you two guys later! And Lavi, go take a shower or something.” 

You mimic her laugh and she pats your very damp hair before leaving. 

“It looks like it’s lightened up for a bit.” Allen comments. “If we don’t want to get caught in the heavy rain, we should leave now too.” 

The rain changed a lot during the day, switching from light to heavy randomly. Sadly for your clothes but luckily for your emotions, the rain was almost coming down in sheets. You were soaked in a matter of minutes, let alone the walk to the café, and your clothes are still dripping a bit, causing the barista to keep glaring at you. You do feel a little bad for making his job harder today, but you’ve spelled your name for him four times and he still gets it wrong. 

You love the rain. The feeling of soaking clothes chilling your very core? Not so much. 

“Does it really look like that matters to me?” You say, forcing a smile while you shudder. You need to dry all your clothes, especially your precious scarf. 

“I can’t believe you, Lavi.” Allen takes a sip of his drink and stands up. “Come on, Lenalee’s right, you need a warm shower and a new change of clothes.” 

“That does sound amazing.” You sigh, grabbing your hot chocolate, unable to feel the heat soak into your hands. “I am so cold, I can’t feel this.” 

Allen gives you an expression laced with concern and grabs your arm, leading you to the door. “Okay, that settles it, you’re going back to your dorm.” 

Allen opens he umbrella outside and moves to cover you too. You want to brush up against him for warmth but you’re overly aware of the fact you’re drenched and any close contact with anyone wouldn’t make a difference.

“Allen, it doesn’t matter. I could not possibly be more wet.” 

“Nonsense, get under here.”

“If we stand this close I will get _you_ wet.” You step a bit to the side, leaving a gap between your bodies much to your dismay. 

“Lavi, are you listening to the words you are saying?” 

“What? Ohhhhhhhh. My GOD, ALLEN.” You smack his arm and he lets out a thick, warm laugh. “Get your head out of the gutter!”

“I’m sorry, but considering I went to high school, it’s to be expected.” 

“Really, cause I am shocked. You seam like a pure innocent soul.”

Allen laughs. Really laughs. Hunched over, hand on his knees, you have to take the umbrella before he drops it laughs. You’re pretty sure there are tears in his eyes laughs.

“Oh… oh that’s cute. That’s very cute.” 

“Is it?”

“Lavi, I went to high school, lived on the streets, and was raised by Cross through my teen years. I had my purity stripped from me.” 

“C-cross?” Great, and now your teeth are chattering. 

“My master.” Allen makes a displeased face. “Er, that is to say, the person who I lived with for the last five years.” 

The last five years… but Allen said he was an orphan until he was seven? That math would make him twelve, and while he looked pretty young, he definitely is not twelve. You point this out between pouring hot chocolate into your mouth and shivering slightly.

“That’s when I was with Mana,” Allen says, a heartfelt smile appearing on his face. “He was my adoptive father for five years.” 

“Another five?” You quickly add up the numbers in your head. “Wait.. that makes you… only seventeen?” 

“About, yeah. I turn eighteen in December.” 

“Urgh.” You groan and cover your face with your hands. You have a crush you don’t know how to deal with, and _it’s not even legal._

“What did you mean when you said a-about?”

“Lavi are you okay?” Allen turns in front of you, walking backwards. “Your lips are turning blue.” 

“The wind isn’t helping.” You take a large sip of your hot chocolate. “Keep talking, it’s giving me something to focus on.”

“You are _so_ dramatic.” Allen rolls his eyes. “I was an orphan. That status normally doesn’t come with a lot of information like a birthdate or medical history. People had to guess, and I consider when Mana adopted me to be my birthday.”

“So you could be older or younger.” 

“Yep.” 

“I just realized I’m interrogating you and we’re not even swapping secrets right now, sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I’m just behind by, what, five questions?” 

“Five does seem to be the number of this conversation.”

You practically run into your dorm building to get out of the wind. Allen follows you up stairs to your floor and to your room, to “make sure you didn’t just pass out or sit there in wet clothes because that seams like something you would do”. 

Much to your dismay, you enter your room to the sound of running water and let out a low groan. 

“What?”

“Kanda’s in the shower.” You sigh, just kind of standing there so you don’t get anything else damp by sitting on it. 

“Oh right, roommates.” Allen stands there for a minute, leaning back and forth in his stance, and lightly biting his bottom lip. “Grab some clean clothes, you can use mine.”

“What?” You try not to choke on air. 

“You can use mine. I don’t need to right now, and you need to before you get sick and die of hypothermia or something.” Allen tilts his head and smiles at you and you’re positive little part of you does die. “Then if you want, we can ‘swap secrets’. After all, you now owe me five.” 

“Allen Walker, are you inviting me to come to your dorm room, use your shower, and then chill and talk into the late hours of the night while we spill our souls to each other?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Cool.” Oh yes, you are definitely dying inside. Half because Allen Walker just invited you to come to his dorm to shower and hang out and half because _oh my god, have you lost your mind what if he finds out???_

You shove that little annoying voice into the back of your mind, wishing you had a window to drop kick it out of instead. You’re fine. Allen is not like your mother. You trust him. You feel safe around him. If he finds out, you’ll just deal with it. 

You take a deep breath and rummage through your drawers, pulling out a loose long sleeve shirt and sweats, your comfort-wear for when you wanted to be relax and hopefully not flip out. You’re not going to flip out. If anything, you’re probably going to end up telling him. You want him to know, so he can be completely comfortable around you, and you can be comfortable around him. 

You finish grabbing your necessities, taking a moment to silently thank Kanda’s insistence on getting a room where the bathroom’s shower area was separated from the sinks, allowing you to grab your hair brush and towel. Allen waits patiently at your doorway, glancing around the room. 

“It looks crowded for the two of you. Why didn’t you apply to the single shared rooms in the other building?”

“We did, but we didn’t get a room. Again. Kanda’s pretty pissed at the administration. I kind of like the close quarters, it’s cosy.”

“Cosy? With Kanda?” Allen looks stuck between confused and amused and you can’t blame him there. “What’s that like, hugging a rock? All done? Let’s go.” 

“I did hug him once. It was like wrapping your arms around a statue. A statue that could kill you. I don’t recommend it.” You follow Allen up another flight of stairs to his room, and it is right above yours. That’s kind of weird. “Kanda’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

“I highly doubt that.” He unlocks the door quickly and flips on the lights, throwing his bag onto a bed and turning to face you. “Welcome to my room.”

The first thing you notice is that it is completely organized. In face, there is almost nothing in it that you can see. Basic college stuff, school supplies, bedding, trash can, a few books (all stacked on his desk perfectly). 

“Dude, do you not have things?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them and you hope it doesn’t sound too rude.

“I kinda learned to live light,” Allen says, sitting down on his bed. “I do have things though. Provided Cross hasn’t thrown everything out, I have a storage unit with a bunch of stuff in it I get when I turn eighteen. Now you owe me six.”

“Man I suck at this.” 

Allen smiles at you. “I don’t mind. Now go shower before you get sick.”

You salute Allen and head into his bathroom. It’s just as neat and clutter-less as his room. You turn on the shower and wait for it to warm up while putting way too much effort into pealing your wet clothes off your body. You avoid the mirror on principle. It doesn’t bother you as much as it did when you were younger, but you’ll never forget shattering that mirror in your mother’s house, at a time when seeing the curve of your hips and chest and the length of your hair made you want to scream. 

The water is warm and it is possibly the best feeling in the world on your freezing skin. You probably spend five minutes just standing under the water, letting it wash away the chill in your body and the mildly fearful thoughts. It’s not as relaxing as the rain, but the heat is something wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The current chapter I am writing got too long, so I split it here. It's kind of an abrupt ending, but expect the next part within the next week probably. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments! I'm sorry I didn't get around to answering them yet, but they really mean the world to me.


	13. Chapter 13

After spending too much time in the shower (and borrowing some of Allen’s body wash) (it smells faintly like sage and rosemary) (you can’t help but notice how nicely the smell complements your minty shampoo), you dry off and change into your new clothes. You take a breath and glance into the mirror, trying only to focus on fixing your hair into something that lets you see. But your eyes fall to your cheeks, much thinner and sharper than they once were, your chest, now flat, and you whisper the same thoughts over and over again. _You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. You look fine, and even if you didn’t, what is in appearances anyway?_

You really want to believe those words.

You hang up the towel to air dry like your clothes, you’ll wash and dry them later, probably late on Tuesday. No one does laundry at midnight on a Tuesday, besides you of course. 

You take another breath and open the door to Allen’s room. He’s changed from his day clothes as well and is sitting at his desk, idly scrolling through something on his phone, head resting on his left hand, earbuds in. A glove sit on the desk next to the iPod and, despite how much you want to respect his privacy, you curiosity gets the better of you and you take a closer look at his visible hand. 

Nothing. His right hand looks completely normal. Maybe it’s because he’s always cold or something? You thought maybe his gloves were like your scarf. You know wear it for warmth and comfort, but you used to wear it to mask your chest and add another layer of clothing between you and prying eyes. 

He doesn’t seam to see you enter, so you call out to him. “Hey, Allen.”

He lifts his head up and turns to you with a light smile, removing his earbuds. “Hey, all done in there?” 

“Yeah, and thanks, I really needed that.” You shake your hair a bit, messing up your attempt at grooming. 

“I know you did.” He leaves his phone and iPod at his desk and moves to one of the beds, gesturing to the other one. “Have a seat, if you’d like.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” You sit across from Allen, trying to relax on the empty bed. “Must be nice not having a roomie.” 

“It makes changing easier, but it can get a little lonely.”

“No pointless arguments though.” 

“No talking to anyone in general though.”

“Point made and point taken.” Silence. “So, uh, how are we going to do this?”

“We can start easy, like with ‘what’s your favorite food’ and then we can both answer.” Allen shrugs. “That way we both learn the same stuff about each other.” 

“Yakiniku.”

“What?”

“What’s my favorite food.” You smile sweetly, leaning over and resting your elbows on your knees. “What about you?” 

Allen grins. “So we’re just going to go with that? Okay. Mine’s mitarashi dango.” 

“Okay, we both dig Japanese food, that’s amazing, I’m sensing a trippy connection here.” Allen laughs. “So my turn, or do you want to take the next five?”

“Eh, we’re both sharing, so you can go.” 

“Okay, another super easy one: what was the last song you listened to?” An easy question for him, but you don’t even know when you listened to music last.

“ _Beat Drop_ by Simon Curtis.” Allen smirks. “I can’t possibly imagine why you asked that.” 

“Me either, ‘cause I don’t know when I last listened to music. I mean I like it, but I’m not listening all the time. I think it was maybe _The Voice_ by Celtic Women. I know I sent that to Lenalee this week.”

“Oh, Celtic Women, they are really good.” Allen comments off handedly. “My turn? Hmm…what’s the last book you read?” 

“Oh, so now I get a freebee too?” He nods. “It was _I’ll Give You the Sun_. It was sad. I cried. I cried, I swooned, I fell to the floor in randomly and spasmed.” Allen giggles. “I yelled and broke things.” 

“That good?”

“Heartbreaking. It was beautiful.”

“I haven’t read a book that wasn’t for school since before high school.” 

“Holy crap, how do you live with yourself?” Allen laughs. “Reading is like my favorite hobby. Followed really closely by sleeping. But seriously Allen. How.” 

“Life just happens. But for school the last thing I read in senior year was the poetry of Emily Dickinson.” 

“Ah, nature, death, and isolation. Beautiful stuff. Okay: what makes you smile?” You ask because you want to know what makes Allen happy, not because you want to see that smile as much as possible. 

“Food, for starters. I also like making money and fluffy animals.” 

Okay… that catches you surprised. “Are you serious?” 

Allen nods again, smirking. “Food is love, food is life. Money is nice and fluffy animals are adorable.” 

You can’t help but notice the twinge of darkness in his eyes at the mention of money. It makes you feel mildly concerned. 

“What about you?” 

“Ummm….” You hadn’t really put much thought into your own answer. “I like reading and sleeping, as I mentioned, and I like making jokes and talking to people.” 

“And pulling pranks on Kanda?”

You nod. “And pulling pranks on Kanda. My favorite life-threatening pastime. Your turn.”

“Okay, how about if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go and why?” 

“Oh, that’s a good one.” You look up and hum as your thinking and Allen chuckles lightly. “Well I’ve taken trips all over since I started living with my grandfather. He has business acquiring or translating books and documents, so one day I’d be home, the next I’d be on a plane to France, Germany, Pakistan, Peru, et cetera. But I’ve always wanted to go to Alexandria, Egypt and pay my respects to the remains of the Library of Alexandria.”

“Why?” Allen prompts, looking actually curious about your strange fascination. 

You answer him ecstatically. “Because it held so much knowledge! Records of some of the greatest empires in history and they’re all gone. It was destroyed and we lost so much information, it’s heartbreaking. Literally, my chest hurts thinking about it.” 

“That’s cool that you’re super passionate about it. Mine’s not nearly as important,” Allen laughs

“Mine’s only important to me, yours is important to you for different reasons.” 

Allen’s smile is so warm you might melt. “I really want to go see a Cirque du Soleil show.” You move your hand in a circle, urging him to keep talking. “I’ve always loved circuses and Mana used to show me clips from old shows. They’re so beautiful, the circus acts, the music, the story, the costumes, everything. I just really want to see one live.”

“So, I’m going to assume you’re not afraid of clowns?”

Allen laughs that laugh that people use when they’re hinting at _oh, you don’t even know how much that does/doesn’t apply to me._ “No, not at all.” 

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why?”

“You won’t believe me if I told you.” Something in his voice tells you people didn’t often believe what he told them. 

That person would never be you. “Try me.” 

“Okay, so I was an orphan, but I was mostly raised by and lived with a traveling circus.” 

Okay, that you were not expecting. “Back up and place this questioning on pause, you’re going to have to explain that more because I am sure there is a story there.”

“I’ll make it a question then: what was your childhood like? I’ll go first.” 

Okay. You’re excited about hearing Allen’s childhood. But saying your own? You’re extremely terrified. Extremely terrified. 

“When I was a kid apparently my parents or mother or I don’t know just left me. I was abandoned and left at an orphanage, I don’t know why. So anyway, I was really young and a circus came to the town and I just left with them. I learned how to do a bunch of circus acts, and before you can ask, because people always do, yes I can juggle and do some acrobatics. I was about seven when I met Mana Walker. He was in a clown in different circus and I left mine to travel with him. He adopted me and gave me a name, and I became Allen Walker.” 

You’re really in shock. Allen’s… really lived. You tried to trace the emotions in his voice at every phrase, from slight bitterness when he mentioned getting abandoned to the love in his voice at the mention of Mana. In comparison your life just sounds bland, dramatic, and sad. 

“I am really impressed, you lived a lot!” Your mouth is probably hanging open and Allen looks down, slightly embarrassed. “Before I go, can I ask three things?” He nods. “What are we defining as childhood so I know how much I get to talk about, what did people call you for the first seven years of your life, and do you remember what you said to me about gender being s social construct?” 

You really didn’t intend for that last question to leave your mouth. Whelp.

“Okay, well, I only went up to seven, so we can both go farther or you can stop there. As for your second question…” Allen gets a kind of flustered look on his face. “I was called ‘Red’ because I used to have red hair.”

“Oh my god, no way.” You can’t picture it, not at all. 

“Well, it was not a red as yours, but yeah, I used to have red-brown hair.” Allen gets up, stretches, and flops back down on his bed, laying on his stomach. “As for question number three, yes I do.”

“Side question: can you elaborate on it?” You just really want to be one-hundred percent certain you can tell him. _You’re paranoid._ Yes, but paranoid for a reason. 

“I just don’t think it’s important.” Allen pauses, probably trying to select his words carefully. “Gender is normally used in society to excuse discrimination; the very idea of ‘gender’ is just a way of classification of how people can be treated. I think if people feel the need to claim a gender they should, but if you don’t want one you should be able to just be viewed as simply human. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I do not think it is right for society to try to force a defining label on someone without their consent.” 

“I… wow.” You’re speechless. _To force a defining label on someone without their consent._ That’s what it is. You’re told what you are, and expected to grow up conforming to those stereotypes. You want to get a copy of Allen’s ramblings and shove it in your mom’s face. 

“Thank you.” You whisper the words, so low you’re not even sure if he heard you. “Well, its my turn to tell you my childhood and ask whatever you want since that’s what I’ve been doing to you. Just bear with me, this is the first time I’m going to be like, telling someone else.”

“Alright.” Allen props up his head to focus on you.

You take another deep breath and pull your knees up to your chest. “So the super short version of my childhood is that I was assigned female at birth and lived with a mother who did not believe in being transgender.” 

“Oh my God.” Allen raises the front part of his body to look at you. His eyes are wide, and you don’t know which part of your statement he’s shocked about. “Lavi, that must have been awful, didn’t you say your mother _disowned_ you?” 

“When I was fifteen, yeah.” You laugh a little, trying to smother your nerves. “That’s, ha, when I cut all my hair. I cut off a good fifteen inches and when she found me, I thought she was going to kill me.”

“Oh my God.” 

“It’s okay, we… didn’t really get along.” You take another deep breath. _Just keep breathing, get through this._ “I first noticed when I was eight but everyone smothered me with ‘tomboy’ and I had no idea what it really was. It took three more years before I hated being called ‘she’ a grouped with the girls. Twelve is when it really started.” 

You squint your eyes closed and fold your arms over your legs, hiding your face.

“Lavi, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

“I want to.” You whisper, spilling out the words you’ve been turning around in your head for so long. “It’s not fair to you if I don’t.”

“It’s not fair to you to make yourself uncomfortable for me.” 

“I’m fine.” _That’s a lie._ “It’s just…I’ve always had a great memory, Allen. I remember the white and pink dress my mom made me wear, I remember being twelve and looking into the mirror and seeing soft cheeks, long read hair, I remember the horror of being thirteen and developing curves, it disgusted me.”

“Body dysmorphia?” Allen prompts and you nod. 

“I had it so bad. I shattered a mirror when I was fourteen because of it. I couldn’t talk to my mother, in her eyes I was only…” You can’t finish the sentence. “My grandfather helped me though; he was always there for me. He bought me my first binder and advised me to go by ‘Bookman’ if I hated my name so much. He called me his grandson. I felt so alive in the summers I spent with him. After I cut off all my hair, screamed the truth at my mother and got hit in return, I called him. He got custody over me and mom disowned me. I was fifteen and I finally got to live my life.” 

You stop talking and silence fills the air, eating you alive. You’re shaking a little and your mind is reeling, spinning, you might just throw up. _Why isn’t he saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything why isn’t he saying anythingwhyisnthesayinganything--_

“I think your story is much more amazing than mine.” Allen whispers. “You’re amazing for living through that, Lavi.” 

“Oh please, I only heard seven years of your life and you lived on the streets and joined a circus!” You don’t make eye contact. “That’s amazing. My story is just sad and painful. And sadly very common.”

“So what if you didn’t ‘live the dream’ of running away and joining a circus? I would have loved to have someone like your grandfather there for me. Your story is who you are, like mine is to me. It doesn’t matter how many people go through what you did, it’s your life, only you can live it.” 

“I still think yours is more interesting.” You feel bad for brushing off Allen’s very heartfelt words but you can’t help the words that leave your mouth. You can feel it starting, the slump pulling you down, back into yourself, into the darkness of your depression.

Allen sits up, looking at you until you meet his eyes. “Lavi, how did you get your name?”

“What?”

“The name ‘Lavi’, how did you get it?”

“I made it.” You don’t know what he’s getting at. “It’s from the French word for life ‘la vie’, l-a v-i-e. I look off the e and made Lavi.”

“See? That’s beautiful, it’s your choice and symbolic of who you are as a person and that you are living the life you want to lead.” Allen’s next sentence comes out with such a flat tone and a challenging look in his eyes you can’t help but laugh. “I was named after Mana’s dead dog.”

“Seriously? Like _Indiana Jones_ style?”

“I got the name Allen because Mana just started calling me it, the name of his dead dog.” Allen smiles and laughs with you. “Like Indiana Jones, I’ve never thought of that, that’s funny. But are you getting what I’m trying to say?” 

“I have a cooler name than you?” 

Another eye roll. “No. We both have interesting pasts with ups and downs. Everyone does, that’s how life works.”

“I hear you.” You shrug your shoulders. “I’m still not ecstatic about my childhood.” 

“I don’t expect you to be, it must have been hard.” You nod and Allen gives you a soft smile, a sad look in his eyes. “If it helps, I did only tell you the first seven years. I should at least match your fifteen, right?” 

“If you want to.”

“It wouldn’t be fair you you if I didn’t.” He lays back down, folds his arms, and rests his head on them. “But… this is also the first time I’m telling someone this, so bear with me. I think I should be okay, though, I’ve been coping for five years now, so…”

You change your position on the bed to match Allen. “I understand. I’ve been coping for six years and I still have issues.” 

“Thanks, Lavi.” Allen smiles and takes a breath, probably for the same reason you did. “After Mana adopted me, he bought a home and got a real job and made me go to school. I lived like a normal kid for five years, heck, I even learned how to play the piano, that’s how ‘normal‘ my life became. But then…” Allen closes his eyes for a moment. “We were in an accident.” 

“Oh…”

“Mana was driving, a huge semi flew through the intersection. Smashed the car into this intricate fence.” Allen shuddered. “I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, I was in a hospital and I felt like every part of my body had a something on it. The doctors told me it was amazing I survived.”

Allen lifts his face and pulls his bangs back to show you the scar on his face. It’s the first good look you’ve gotten of it, and you think it looks almost like a star on his forehead and the cut goes through his eye to the middle of his cheek. You wonder how on earth anyone could end up with a scar like that. 

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Allen’s not looking at you, and you get the feeling he’s super self conscious about his body, something you can understand. “Apparently, I got it from the fence when it merged with the car door.” He drops his bangs back in place to cover the scar and traces his fingers in a jagged line across this body. “Something else cut the whole front of my body pretty badly and there was a fire that burned my left arm. They told me I’d be lucky if I could move it again, let alone actively use it.” He lifts his covered left hand and flexes his fingers a few times. 

“Joke’s on them, I’m still ambidextrous.” He lets out a quick, sharp laugh that only lasts a second. “All of this… it was nothing. The worst thing was when they told me Mana died on impact.” 

You suddenly understand what Allen had been hinting at before, when he said someone named “Cross” raised him for the last five years, how he had belongings but had to wait until he was eighteen to get them, because they’re inheritance. You really should have put everything together by now, but you didn’t. 

“I don’t even remember what happened really, but I blacked out again and when I woke up my hair was white and Cross Marian, an old friend of Mana’s apparently, was their to take care of me in Mana’s place. I guess you can say he was my godfather or something.” Allen let out a shaky breath. “So Cross took me in, kept me in school but refused to do anything related to debts or loans, so I’ve been in charge of finances since I was twelve. In fact, I paid off a good ninety percent of his debts by myself.” 

You understand why Allen sounds so bitter when he mentions Cross now. “Let me guess, a couple weeks back when we had lunch and you had to leave to take care of some bills…?”

“Yep, that was Cross.” Allen rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait to be eighteen so I can finally claim legal independence from him.” 

“I am almost afraid to ask, but how did a twelve year old pay back debts? Where did you get the money? Please tell me you aren’t some master thief or something.” 

“No, I don’t steal. I _win_.” You have never before in all twenty-one years of your life seen someone smile as creepily as Allen is currently smiling. 

“Allen, you’re scaring me.” 

“I started playing card games soon after the accident to regain the use of my arm. Somewhere along the line I needed to make money, people were happily scamming everyone around them, and I took up playing poker.” You lean back at the dark look that crosses his face. “I never lose.”

“Well I can understand why you like making money.” You hope to shift the conversation away from what ever unholy spirit has just possessed Allen and back to something more light hearted.

“It was kind of an necessity, yeah. I can’t tell if I like it or just did it so often it’s become a habit. Kind of like my music.” 

“Oh?” There it is, the perfect escape into a new topic. “What do you mean?” 

Allen shrugs. “I used music to tune out the things I didn’t want to hear. Cross was, is, very much a womanizer, playboy, man-whore, however you want to call him, and I did not want to hear it. Over time it just became a habit of mine to not listen to things I didn’t want to hear. So I listened all the time at home and sometimes at school. Sometimes I would put in my earbuds but not play anything. It was a great way to pretend to ignore people.”

“I wish I would have done that to my mom.” 

“Hmmm…” 

“Yeah.” You roll onto your back, looking at Allen by hanging your head over the side of the bed.

“We went pretty deep into this whole ‘secret swapping’ thing, huh?” 

“Well it is secret swapping. Got any other secrets?” You don’t, really. You’re kind of an open book.

“I’m asexual.” Allen says like he’s stating it’s raining outside, it makes you smile. “Or maybe demi or grey. All I know is I’ve never looked at someone and been sexually attracted to them and senior year was horrible.” Allen’s face says don’t ask so you shove that topic into the back of your mind for another time. 

“I feel bad, besides the whole transgender thing, I don’t have many secrets to share.” You cross your arms and bite your lip. 

“Really? No scandalous facts? Shocking life stories?” Allen gives you a sweet smile and you can feel your body relax. “Secret crushes?”

 _Well, there is my huge crush on you_ is probably not the best thing to say.

“I think Kanda’s pretty.” Allen snorts. “I’m serious! I don’t like him like that or anything, but he has a very pretty face.”

“I don’t see it.”

“You’re blinded by hatred, my friend. He’s pretty. And his hair is so soft and silky.”

“He let you touch his hair?” It’s not a question. It’s a monotone statement of disbelief. 

“I braided it once.” You flip back onto your stomach and lift up your head. _Woah. Dizzy._

“He let you _braid_ his hair.” This one a monotone statement of denial. 

“I almost died when he woke up, but that’s besides the point. Yu Kanda has nice hair and a pretty face.” 

“You sound like you have a crush.”

“Nope, not my type.” 

“You have a type?” Allen has a smug grin on his face.

“Yes, beautiful.” Well, you’re not lying. 

“…” You get a very slow blink in response.

“I said he was pretty, not beautiful.” _You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful._

“I am going to punch you, Lavi.” _It’s okay, you’re going to punch yourself too._

You both laugh and you realize you would give anything to be next to Allen right now, laying on the same bed, laughing and breathing closely to him, not separated by an empty chasm barely four feet wide. You need to get a cap on this crush business soon or something super stupid is going to happen. 

“So anything else to get off your chest?” 

“Are we going to go back to asking questions?”

“We can. And keep them lighter this time.” 

Allen giggles. “Yeah I think I had enough sad reminiscences for one night.”

“Allen.” You make sure he’s looking at you before you continue. “I’m really sorry, about Mana. I didn’t know him, but he seemed like a cool guy. I’m sorry you lost him.”

You can see the tears that well up in his eyes and the soft smile that falls on his lips. “Thank you, Lavi. And I’m sorry about your mother. I can’t even imagine what that must of been like, but I’m sorry for how she treated you. No parent should ever do that to their child.” 

“Thanks.” 

The silence between you is comfortable, but you want to talk, you want to hear him tell you trivial things because it’s often these trivial things that are the most significant somehow. 

“Allen.”

“Yeah?”

“If you could breed two animals together and defy the laws of nature, what monstrosity would you create?”

“What?” 

“You heard me. Don’t look at me like that, it’s a very valid and very real question.” 

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.” 

“Answer the question, Allen.” 

“I have no idea. I would probably try for a really big dog.” 

“Pff, you’re aiming too low. I would do everything in my power to make a dragon!” 

Allen snorts and rolls his eyes. “Of course you would, I expect nothing less of you. Least favorite movie?” 

“ _Friday_.” You don’t even have to think about it. “I hate that movie so much, it can almost be called an undying passion. Let’s not talk about it or quote it ever, especially that one line everyone knows.” 

Allen seams to understand where you’re coming from. “I can do that. I’m not that fond of movies where the dog dies. Gets me every time.” 

“I take it you like dogs.” 

“I love dogs. I have a huge golden retriever named Timcanpy, well, he’s technically Cross’ and he’s living with him currently, but still. Softest thing in the world and it sucks to be bitten by him, which happened quite often when we were both younger.” 

“Nice. Now I have another important question. Bendy or straight straws?”

“Depends. Bendy are always more fun, but not for like a smoothie or milkshake.” 

“Ah, you’re completely right.” 

“Favorite smell? Since we’re doing completely off the wall questions.”

“I love old book smell. And earl grey tea. Also mint, lavender, and burning firewood.”

“Baking and cooking smells in general. I also like sage, rosemary, and coffee. And let me guess, you have another very important question?”

“I _do_.” You are an evil person. “How _tall_ are you?”

Oh, but Allen’s expression is so worth it. You didn’t really think people’s eyebrows could actually _twitch in annoyance_. 

“Five-eight and a half.” He says through closed teeth and a forced smile, his eyes threatening you to not say anything. 

But how can you possibly not?

“Wow. I’m six-one and I might have to agree with Kanda.”

Allen chucks a pillow at your head and you laugh. “I AM NOT THAT SHORT.”

“Okay! Okay! Uncle! Here I have a better question.”

Allen scoffs and crosses his arms. 

“Would you like to hang out more?”

Every aspect of Allen’s body langue shifts, his shoulders relaxing, his soft, warm smile returning. You wish you had a picture of everyone of his smiles. 

“Yes, I would love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part of the last chapter, which I got done way faster than I thought I would. I have graduation, end of school stuff, and beginning of summer stuff, so I am not sure when I will be able to update again, but I will not abandon this story. 
> 
> Thank you for the kind comments and I am very happy that you are all liking this story. 
> 
> I think I mentioned this once, but if for any reason you think I need to add a tag for a trigger warning, please let me know, I will always do so.


	14. Chapter 14

You were surprised how much everyone loved to celebrate Halloween last year. You were probably invited to six different parties, five of which were hosted by people you didn’t even know. You didn’t go to any of them. Instead, Lenalee rented all the worst horror movies she could get her hands on and you and Kanda joined her for a marathon.

This year Lenalee informed you she’s one of the main hosts for the drama student’s Halloween party so movie night will have to be rain checked. You threw your arms around her dramatically, saying the world is too cruel to take her from shitty-horror-movie-night. She responded by telling you to come to the party, even if just for a little bit, and asking if you would bring Allen with you. 

You talked to him and he agreed to come with you “because Lenalee asked” and “you look so excited, how could I possibly say no”. You almost walked into a bench when he made that comment. 

“So, is this like a costume shindig, L?” 

“We’re the drama department, Lavi, what do you think?”

“Awesome! Allen, we could do a couple’s costume! What are you doing Lena?” 

“Couples?” You ignore Allen’s expression of _what are you getting at, Lavi?_

“We’re all doing something, we just haven’t picked one yet. Half of the group, the actors, want to all Shakespeare characters because we have the costumes, the other half, the stage crew, wants to go as various stage equipment.” 

“You all should go as different Johnny Depps! Or Leonardo DiCaprios! Like all their different characters! Man, that would be so cool!” You don’t know what makes you say it, but you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind. 

“That… is actually an amazing idea. In fact, I am going to go call some people and ask them right now.” Lenalee takes out her phone, and you turn to Allen. 

“We should go costume shopping!”

“Aren’t most Halloween costumes like over priced, over sexualized, and offensive to some people?” Allen counts off the cons on his fingers, but something in his face flat out tells you he doesn’t want to go. 

“Also extremely historically inaccurate.” Lenalee chimes in, making you flinch. “Hello? Yeah, It’s Lenalee…” 

“Okay, you got me there, historical inaccuracy is my number one pet peeve.” You drum your fingers on the table in annoyance. “Like come on, half of the costumes would get you beheaded if you wore that in Medieval England.” 

“Do we even have to do costumes?” Allen almost whines and you catch his eyes flicking to his left arm. 

You haven’t really talked about everything you shared a couple weeks back, but you’ve thought about it. You’ve laid awake at night thinking about it. You’ve watched Allen out of the corner of you eyes to follow his movement and see how he reacts to things. You know a lot about him now, but you still feel like you know nothing. You also feel like you just want to hold him close to you and tell him everything’s okay. Or rather you want that from him. He seams to be much more ‘together’ about life than you are. 

“I think it would be fun! We could do something quirky and unique.” Allen snorts. “Like, I don’t know, nothing historically inaccurate or racist or sexist or wow this is kind of tricky.”

“Why don’t you two just go as each other?” Lenalee chimes in, covering her phone. 

“So I just need to get a wig and cut off five inches of my legs?” Allen smacks you. “Plus my hair is fabulous, and not easily replicated.”

“No, I like it. I get make you dress decently and I get to go around yelling at people about the inaccuracies of their halloween costumes.” 

“Okay, I will give you the right to say you’re a spiffy dresser, because yeah you are.” _And man on the days Allen wears one of his vests you have a hard time not telling him just how amazing he looks because he looks really, really good._ “But I do not yell at people about historical inaccuracies! I brood in silence and then rant to you and Lena later.” 

“If that’s the lie you want to keep telling yourself, so be it.” 

“Wow, Rude.” You place your hand on you heart. “Allen, your words wound me.” 

“Want me to kiss it better?” Allen laughs at whatever face you’re making. 

“Umm.” _You’re sorry, Lavi’s not here right now, he’s officially checked out of reality, good bye._

“Oh my god, I know what we’re going to do.” 

Allen’s face lights up but you can’t really process it. You’re not really processing anything. He leans into Lenalee and whispers something. Her grin is blinding and whisper of oh my god goes right over your head but you’re still not tuning in. 

“I think we have a costume you could borrow at the theatre, and I could curl your hair and _oh my god, Allen we are so doing this._ ” She grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet. “I mean we have a few days, but if I need to make adjustments, I want to have time.”

“Lenalee, it’s fine, I can just buy one from a costume store.”

“No! We’re doing this right. Let’s go try it on.” 

“Doing what?” You slide back into the conversation at Lenalee’s shout completely lost to what they’re talking about. 

Allen’s really sneaky smile is not helping you. “Don’t worry about it, Lavi. It’s be a surprise.” 

“Then how will I know what to wear?” 

“Lenalee will help you.” 

\---

“Lenalee will help you” translates to “Lenalee will give you a suit and help you with your hair the day of the party but still won’t tell you what’s going on” apparently. 

The day before the party Lenalee gives you a blue suit and tie, telling you not to damage it too much because she’s borrowing it from the drama department and your lucky she’s well respected enough that they let her borrow costumes for other people. When you ask her who you’re supposed to be she smiles and replies “the best couples costume she’s ever going to see”. 

_And that’s just super helpful._

Just as the party’s starting Lenalee meets you in the make-up room of the theatre with a tub of hair gel, an amused looked on her face, and dressed like Emma Watson from _Perks of Being a Wallflower._

“I am really disappointed you’re not dressed as Johnny Depp.”

“Well we kind of did that, we all put the names of actors and actresses into a bucket and picked one. Then we decided to pick their outfit from our favorite movie or TV show they’re in. I’m sure you’ll see a Johnny Depp tonight somewhere. I know for a fact the person who got Leonardo DiCaprio chose _Romeo + Juliet._ ” 

She walks you over to vanity and sets you down, facing her, away from the mirror. You wonder if that’s for her convenience or for yours. 

“Yeah, but it’s not you.” 

“I don’t think you’ll be worried about what I’m wearing for very long.” 

“That sounds really dirty, L. Are you trying to seduce me?” 

She smacks you lightly on the side of your head. “Hush you. We both know I’m not your type.”

“But you are beautiful, Lenalee.” 

She gives you a weird half smile. “Thank you, Lavi. Now, sit still so I can do this right.” 

She pulls out a picture, deliberately not showing you who it was, and tapes it to the mirror behind you. 

“I was going to do a wig, but Allen had me keep his hair color so we’re keeping yours too.” 

“So I’m getting no hints at all?” 

“None.” 

You sigh and sit back as Lenalee applies copious amounts of hair gel, pulling your bangs back and parting you hair dramatically on the left. You stay silent as she works and mumbles the occasional complaint that you just don’t have the right hair cut to pull off this look well. You’ve never had this much gel in your hair before and it’s making your head feel kind of heavy, especially the way she seams to be covering your undercut and poofing up your bangs to do… something. It feels weird.

“Maybe we should have gone with a wig.”

“Shh… I’ve got this.” Lenalee mumbles, shoving a bobby pin into your head.

“Ow.” 

“Shh.” 

Awhile later she pulls away from you with a satisfied smile on her face. 

“How to I look?”

“Presidential.” 

You turn around, confused, and are absolutely shocked at what you see. 

“I am pretty sure JF Kennedy didn’t have green eyes.” 

“Well I must have done a good job with the hair if you could recognize yourself.”

“The photo’s right there. But you _did_ do an amazing job with the hair, Lenalee.” 

You’re John F Kennedy. You are attending a halloween party as John F Kennedy. Who is Allen? Mrs. Kennedy? 

“Please tell me Allen is going as Lincoln and we get to be assassination buddies.” 

“That’s pretty good but this is better.” Lenalee smiles and goes to the door. “Wait here, I’ll go get him.” 

“Okay,” You say, not taking your eyes off your reflection. Lenalee did a good job. A really good job, but you don’t look a thing like JFK. You hope who ever Allen is really completes the costume, because having the hair style and a blue suit isn’t going to make people think you’re the president of the United States.

The door opens slowly, and you turn around to see white. You’re not sure where to look first. White curled and styled hair that barely moves as he approaches you. White gloves so long they might as well just been sleeves. The iconic white dress that looks way too good on his thin frame. The low white heels that cross over each other with every step he takes. The only thing that isn’t white is the red lipstick forming an elegant sly smile. 

“You look nice, Mr. President.” 

“Marilyn Monroe.” _Yep, that will get people to say you’re Kennedy. Oh my god, oh my god, you just might pass out._

“Mr. President.” Allen repeats, stepping toward you and spinning around. His dress flares out around him beautifully. You’re going to pass out. “How do I look?” 

“Ahhhh…” _Absolutely amazing, like, really absolutely amazing, your legs oh my god, your face, that dress does wonders for your figure, you’re amazing, you’re so beautiful Allen._

Nope. You’ve checked out for a minute. 

Lenalee laughs, hitting your cheek lightly. “Earth to Lavi, wake up.” 

“Amazing!” You blurt out, throwing a hand over your chest and hoping you have some kind of filter. “Oh holy crap, you look absolutely amazing.” 

He winks and blows you a kiss and you just might die right here. _Rest in peace, Lavi Bookman who lived a good short life but could not handle seeing Allen Walker dressed like Marilyn Monroe. He will be missed and probably mocked endlessly._

“This is so funny! Allen! You are brilliant! JFK and Marilyn Monroe, oh my god, I need a breather.” You force the words out of your mouth with hearty laughter, cramming down how much you want to tell him he’s so beautiful and you love that he’s confident enough to wear a dress and not care about what people would say. 

“Well, I have to go host, come out once Lavi’s adjusted, okay?” Lenalee bows and exits the dressing room, leaving you and Allen alone.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Allen frowns when he asks and you can’t reply quick enough to wipe that look from his face.

“No! No, not at all, I just, I can’t get over how amazing you look. I mean I think you look amazing normally, and I’m not saying you only look nice because you’re wearing a dress, but it does look very good on you and now I’m babbling so I’m just going to shut up now.” 

Allen laughs, placing a hand on your arm. “I would have warned you if I would have known it would be this kind of a shock. Sorry. But I am glad to hear that I look amazing normally, I take pride in how I dress.” 

You want to melt into a puddle and disappear. 

“Y-yeah… I like the gloves. Classy.” You comment on something more serious, a futile attempt to make this more normal. 

“Yeah, I figured it would work the best. I hope my alteration to the signature outfit will get by un-judged. Can you tell me if they start falling down?” You nod in agreement and Allen takes your hand. “Are you ready to go out there?”

“Aren’t you a little nervous?” 

He laughs a little and smiles fondly at something far away, a memory, probably. “I don’t get stage fright, Lavi. Circus, remember? People paid to see amazing things and laugh at us. So before I do anything, I make sure to laugh. That way people are laughing with me, not at me.” 

“Does that really work?”

“Works for me.” He shrugs and wraps an arm around yours, as if you were escorting him to the party. “Take another breath and let’s go. We can blend into the crowd, and if it makes you feel any better, most people will be looking at me.” 

“Why would that make me feel better?”

“I got the feeling you don’t like prying eyes.”

“I got the same one from you.” 

“Well, mine’s an occupational hazard.”

“That sounds like a sketchy occupation.” 

“Nothing’s perfect. Let’s go, the sooner we get out there, the sooner we can dance our problems away.” 

You might look like you’re escorting Allen, but he’s the one guiding you out into the crowd. The moment you leave the doors there are people. Karen Gillan from _Doctor Who_ , a pair of greek gods (you think, after hearing them toss around a few names, but they are dressed more like Romans), Nicolas Cage’s lovely _Con Air_ appearance (you’re seriously wondering if the guy hasn’t showered in a few days), William Shatner in a really nice _Star Trek_ suit is throwing himself against a wall, someone is… a bush, you think? They’re literally just in green and covered with leaves standing next to Keira Knightley as in _the Pirates of the Caribbean_ and someone covered in gray pain sample strips. Cute. 

Allen makes an amused face at the Shatner and lets a relaxed smile fall onto his face. He should join the drama department, he would be a great actor. 

Way too quickly someone sees you and their grin is priceless. “Oh my god, JFK and Marilyn Monroe, that’s amazing.” 

Allen acts out his role perfectly, skirting around you humming happy birthday and smiling like a movie star. People adore him, laughing and cheering on his actions. A few people take Allen from your side to take pictures and you over hear a few people debating over who Allen was and if he was a girl or a boy. You think Allen hears them once because he turns abruptly with a mildly dejected look on his face. It lasts only a moment before he replaces it with a strained smile that fades back into his warm, relaxed expression. 

You talk to people about the Cuban Missile Crisis and the United States space plan and only answer to people who address you as Mr. President. People love it almost as much as they love seeing someone in costume as Meryl Streep doing everything perfectly. Even you become a little mesmerized watching her gracefully walk around and pose perfectly in character as both Meryl Streep and as Donna from _Mamma Mia!_ It makes you want to ditch the party and go sing along to ABBA in your room until Kanda threatens to kill you. 

Ah, memories. 

You’re holding light conversation with Lenalee, the bush, and a girl you met last year who can’t stop shaking and flinching and appears to be completely relying on Lenalee’s presence to not break down crying at any moment when Allen sways up to you. He grabs your arm and pulls you away from the group, and you could swear he was wiping a tear away from his eye. 

“Lavi, dance with me!” His smile is huge and bright and you know he’s hiding something, but if he’s hiding it, you won’t press the issue. You smile back and nod, letting him drag you to the dance floor and praying your butterflies _just stop doing the thing._

“I’m not a very good dancer, mind you.” Your mother had you take Ballet and Tap when you were really young, but pulled you from the class after months of you begging to do anything else but wear a pink leotard twice a week. You hadn’t put much thought into dancing since then, well, not until you saw Allen dance at the beginning of the year. 

“It’s not that hard, dance is simply expressing your emotions. Plus this is a good swaying song.” 

“Do you know every song in the world?”

“Almost every song, yes.” 

Allen gives you another smile, a more real one that almost makes up for the sadness lurking in the depths of his eyes and puts your arms on his waist. You forget how to breath for a second as your hands rest on the white dress and gloves relax on to your shoulders. You completely forget how to breathe, talk, and even move until Allen laughs, telling you it’s okay, you can’t be that bad of a dancer.

He either knows exactly what he’s doing to you and making you suffer on purpose or he’s completely oblivious to the fact you can’t function around him sometimes because you physically cannot handle having a crush and you’re not sure which option is worse. 

You take a breath and just sway with Allen, fully allowing him to lead you and maintain the rhythm to match the song. You try so hard to not solely focus on the fact your hands are touching Allen Walker’s waist and Allen Walker’s arms are wrapped around your neck. You really try so hard not to think about it. You try to think about other things, like how Allen’s heals are probably the reason he’s not having a hard time reaching your neck, and how easily he can strangle you if you mention that. You think about his eyes and how he definitely looked a little sad, but it’s going away the more he dances. 

_the sooner we get out there, the sooner we can dance our problems away_

Maybe that’s why Allen dances. To forget his problems and the bad things in life. Like how you write your thoughts down sometimes, just to clean out your mind of all your fears and find the roots of the problem. You can understand that, dance is supposed to be emotional and expressive. Maybe it could also be liberating. 

“What song is this?” 

“Lana Del Rey, _Shades of Cool_. Not very halloween-y, they should get a more appropriate playlist than just shuffling someone’s iPod.” 

“Maybe you could make appropriate playlists for people and sell them.”

“Maybe I should.”

Silence. 

You don’t really like it, silence makes you remember you’re dancing. With Allen Walker. Your hands are on Allen Walker’s waist and Allen Walker’s arms are around your neck and you’re swaying back and forth to a lady saying her baby is unfixable because he lives in shades of cool. You don’t even understand what she’s saying but you can’t help but feel it’s significant some how. 

“Were you crying?” You really didn’t want to push the matter or be invasive, but if someone made Allen cry, you do want to know about it. 

“Just a little. A little crying is good for the soul, you know, it can be very emotionally refreshing.”

“Not when you’re wearing that much make up.” 

“Did I mess it up?” 

“I don’t think so, but you’re avoiding the question.”

“Because it’s not worth it.” 

“If something made you upset, I would say it’s worth it. Do you know how many years I told myself what I was feeling wasn’t worth making a scene over? Too many.” 

“But these are very different things, mine’s just something stupid that I should have thicker skin about.”

“Allen, elaborate please.” 

Allen sighs and tilts his head forward, placing in on your chest. You wonder if he can feel your heart beat pick up as you trip over your feet and kick him in the leg. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You pull away from Allen, regrettably letting go of his body and bringing your hands to your face. 

Allen rolls his eyes and giggles a little. “Nice one, grace.” 

You have something witty on the tip of your tongue when you see them, a small cluster of people staring at you and Allen, well, mostly at Allen. You’ve seen them before, you think, at one of the parties you skidded by last year. You don’t know them personally, but you did know Lenalee told you a lot of girls didn’t trust them and she kept a good distance between herself and them. You don’t really understand why they would be here, after all there were probably way more wild parties to attend than this one, but that really doesn’t matter. You do not like the way they are looking at Allen at all. Half like he was a piece of meat and they were starving, which makes no sense because if you were starving meat would so not be the best choice of a first meal, half with a look of confusion because they probably recognized Allen. Downside to having white hair, you guess. People don’t really forget it and it can’t be confused with someone else’s. 

You step closer to Allen, speaking in a low tone while not taking your eyes off the group. “Hey, Allen, what’s that song? I always feel like somebody’s watching me?”

“What?” Allen turns sideways, still facing you, but glancing where you’re staring. He finds the group quickly and he makes a very displeased expression. “Wow, okay, I’m uncomfortable. Are they staring at us?”

“Mainly at you.” 

“Well that’s rude.” Allen shifts again, completely turning his back to the group. He… looks annoyed. Annoyed that they’re here, not nervous about how they’re acting. “I think I can feel someone’s eyes undressing me.”

“Are you interested in leaving? Night’s still young, we could go do something else.” 

Allen’s eyes flick over to a group of people standing by the food table, his eyebrows crinkling lightly for a moment. “Yeah, let’s find Lenalee and tell her we’re going.” 

You find Lenalee outside, helping the girl she was with earlier calm down from anxiety or a panic attack or something, maybe you could have Lenalee give her some of your websites you used to calm down. Allen gracefully says tells Lenalee you’re leaving (you ignore the eyebrow wiggle she gives you) and thanks her for all the help with the costumes.

“Well, you stayed almost four hours, that’s way better than the last party we went to.”

“Maybe one day I’ll be the last one to leave, L.”

“I doubt it. Have fun you two! Don’t start the marathon without me!” 

“Marthon?” Allen questions once you’ve started the walk back to the dorm.

“Last year the three of us ditched all the parties and watched the worst horror movies Lenalee could get her hand on. We were going to do it this year but Lenalee had the drama party, so we’re doing it later and you’re totally invited by the way.” 

Allen’s smile is so warm. “Thanks, I look forward to it.” 

You don’t say anything for a moment, enjoying the feeling of the light wind blow across your cheeks. It’s so weird not to feel it move your hair. It’s so weird to have your hair plastered to your head. Allen shivers a bit and crosses his arms and you’re reminded of the fact his legs and shoulders are out in the open for the wind to touch. 

_Would it be completely cliché for you to give him your jacket?_

“I was actually thinking earlier we could ditch the party and watch some of the super scary horror movies.” 

“Oh, is that how you get your kicks? Scaring yourself to the point you can’t sleep?” 

“Hell no, I can’t stand them. Hence why I’m asking you to join me in getting all this Halloween spirit satisfied.” 

“So, you hate horror movies but you want to watch some with me in the name of Halloween?” Allen looks pretty amused by your thoughts and you don’t blame him. 

“That was the plan when I said we could do something else.” 

“Okay. Just let me get this make-up off first.” 

“Yeah, you really went all out.” Allen shivers again and the words fly off your tongue faster than you can catch them. “Want my jacket? You look cold.” 

Allen looks at you with disbelief and a smile. “Did my life become an 80s movie when I wasn’t looking?” 

You talk his smile as a yes and shrug out of the sleeves. “An 80s movie because of the jacket?”

“Well I did just come from a party with my best friend, danced with said best friend, cried a little, saw the cousin of this girl who was obsessed with me in high school, and just got offered my best friend’s jacket because I’m in a dress and cold. If that’s not an 80s movie, I don’t know what is.” 

You place your jacket onto Allen’s shoulders and take a mental note of everything he just said, in case it becomes important later or you get another chance to question him. You forcefully ignore how your stomach turns when he says a girl was obsessed with him in high school. 

“Okay, I agree, your life is an 80s movie. Sounds kinda like _Pretty in Pink_. Does that make me Ducky?”

“There is an alternate ending where Andie dances with Ducky.” 

You’re not sure if that means what you think it means but your butterflies are back and your head is singing.

\----

The horror movie idea was both the best and worst thing you’ve ever thought of doing. Worst because it left you and Allen alone in his room screaming at jump scares and being unable to sleep after the movies ended. You really hate scary movies and you hate yourself for watching them. But you couldn’t help but feel happy when ever Allen grabbed your arm and how he didn’t protest when you threw your arms around him. By the end of the third movie you two were practically shaking and glued together. You couldn’t even be distracted by Allen’s touch because you were too busy over analyzing everything about the movie and listening to Allen whisper all the things that make this movie impossible so you shouldn’t be scared about it. 

You ended up staying in Allen’s room and leaving the lights on all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and I hope you like this chapter because odds are it might be the last for some time. I have a summer job that takes me away from my computer and wifi and leaves me little time to write, so I do not know when I will be able to update next. I will work on it whenever I am home and I promise I'm not abandoning this story. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> And I would like to thank my beta reader for helping me proof read everything so far and for jokingly mentioning Marilyn Monroe to me when I was brainstorming costume ideas.


	15. Chapter 15

A week later you accidentally scare Allen. You appear next to him and speak before he realizes you are there; he retaliates by punching you in the stomach and apologizing profusely once he sees it’s you, but it doesn’t really matter. Allen has quite the arm and you are kneeled over in pain for several minutes while Allen freaks out over hurting you. 

“Sorry, I’ve just been really jumpy since halloween, I’m so sorry, are you okay? Lavi, oh my god, I’m sorry!” 

You are not going to watch any scary movies with Allen Walker any time soon if Allen’s going to be on high alert for weeks afterwards. 

Allen apologizes until you assure him you are fine, the pain isn’t even that bad, you’ve had worse. He makes you promise to meet him at the café after class so he can treat you to a drink. You start to tell him it’s completely not necessary but he ignores you and runs off, mumbling he’s late for math. You don’t realize how badly he was shaking and blushing until he’s out of sight. 

In fact, it doesn’t really hit you that Allen Walker completely decked you in the stomach until he was out of sight. He hit you with experience. That’s probably significant on some level but you can’t focus on it as small ripples of pain continue to hit you with every step. 

\----

Allen’s already sitting at an outside table at the café when you arrive, two cups in front of him, and his bag on the table. You expect his headphones to be in (and they are) so you make a big show of puling out a chair and sitting down so he knows you’re here this time. _Don’t want to be punched twice in one day._

“So,” You start speaking as he pulls the white wires away from his ears, “you insist on buying me an apology drink and I don’t even get to pick it out?”

“Hot chocolate is a comfort food. And although nothing says sorry like a tuna casserole, hot chocolate is a close second.” 

“‘Nothing says sorry like a tuna casserole’? Is that a thing?”

“Yes, like how the ultimate festive way to tell someone ‘I tolerate you’ at Christmas is gifting them a fruit cake. There is only one fruit cake in the world, Lavi, and everyone keeps sending it to each other.” 

You’re laughing lightly, at how serious Allen sounds and how hard he’s trying to keep a straight face. 

“You’re a beautiful person, Allen Walker.” The worlds leave your lips covered by a laugh and hidden by two girls chatting as they walk inside. You don’t know if he hears you, but you notice the way you don’t clench in fear at that possibility. You’re not afraid of Allen Walker like you once were, like you’re afraid of most people under your smile. You think you could be okay letting Allen Walker into your world, even if you still lose your breath when he smiles and get butterflies when he gets to close to your body. 

But, you think it could be okay. You don’t think Allen Walker would hurt you (clearly he could, your stomach still aches a little) but you trust him.

You trust him. 

Such an alien idea, to trust someone with your everything. But you think Allen Walker is a good place to put your everything, if he’s willing to take it in exchange for his. 

“Okay, Christmas and fruitcakes aside, thank you for the hot chocolate.”

“You’re welcome, but that’s not all.” Allen reaches over to his bag and flips it open and you makes a mental note to actually _read_ the buttons that are on it next time you see it. “Have you ever had a s’mores with peanut butter and-slash-or frosting, because I swear it is the best thing.” 

“I’m sorry?” There are only a handful of times you’ve been taken completely by surprise, and most of them seem to be regarding the person sitting in front of you. 

“I know, it sounds odd, but oh, so, so good.” Allen’s faces takes on an expression of pure bliss, and you realize Allen might not have been joking when he said ‘food is love, food is life.’ You might have to fight _food_ for a place in Allen’s heart. You mean, if you actually want to, you know, do the dating thing, something you have totally not been spending your evenings planning out and thinking about. 

“I get the feeling food is your first love.” 

“I won’t deny it, I love food and have a crazy fast metabolism so I’m always eating a lot. And I mean _a lot_ , like an ‘absurdly large’ amount which is really strange and noticeable to most people.”

“I didn’t notice it.” In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Allen eat… at all. 

“That’s because I… I don’t like to… eat much around people.” Your confusion must be clearly painted on your face because Allen elaborates with a sigh.

“I was really down and self-conscious in high school. I mean look at me.” Allen makes a sweeping motion with his arm. “I kind of stick out in a crowd. People were already always looking at me, I didn’t need to give them another reason to stare.” He pulls out a ziplock bag of gram-crackers, chocolate pieces, and god how much stuff can he fit in there? “I didn’t eat lunch for a while and almost passed out in chemistry sophomore year. I’m so glad I had P.E. second period, if it had been fifth or sixth, I know for sure I _would_ have passed out. It’s kind of funny not eating, once you get past the initial hungry feeling, you’re good for a while, until about three hours later, then it feels like your stomach’s digesting itself. Weird.”

“Well anyway, I wasn’t eating enough to support my body, and after a long lecture about health, self-worth, and discovering the word ‘nosocomephobia’, now I eat what I want, when I want. Most of the time.” A light chuckle. “Cross was on my ass, because I ‘wasn’t any good to him dead’ and I should ‘stop caring about what stupid teenagers think and moping about things I can’t change’.” Allen shrugs. “High school was horrible, you’re lucky you missed it.”

“I guess so.” You’re really not sure what to say about what Allen told you. How does someone respond to hearing their best friend practically had an eating disorder? 

The phrase that comes to your mind almost makes you choke. It’s so much harder to admit what Allen was going through when you give it a label. That would be considered an eating disorder right? But somewhere on the minor side of things? Maybe you’re just over reacting, it didn’t really sound like he was anorexic or something, just like he didn’t eat sometimes. That happens to a lot of people. But the way he worded it has you in shambles. 

You let your thoughts travel down many different branches you would have rather never thought of while thinking about Allen Walker. His life… his past… it must have been hard, from what he’s told you, but you don’t know a lot about what happened after his father, Mana, died. And that was when Allen was twelve. You’re missing out on five years of information about Allen Walker that are probably very important to who he is today. 

“Anyway, that’s enough mindless chatter about things that don’t matter. Here.” 

You didn’t even realize what Allen was doing while your mind wandered into uncharted territories, but you’re drawn back to reality as Allen waves a peanut-butter s’more in front of your face. 

“Lavi, take this from me before I eat it instead.” You do as Allen says and he smiles, moving his hands to assemble another one.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“If you try the s’more, sure.” 

You sigh and bite into the treat only to be pleasantly surprised. “Oh my god.”

Allen’s grin nearly doubles in size at your reaction. “I know right? They’re _really good_.”

“Hell yeah they are.” You mumble out between another bite. 

“You can ask your question now, if your not to busy having a mouthgasm.”

“I was just wondering, you said you don’t like to eat around people but you made it sound like you improved a lot. Why is that?” You hate yourself for asking, if he wanted you to know he would tell you on his own, but you are desperate to understand Allen.

He gives you another shrug. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“I can understand that.” You reply and snatch the second s’more from Allen’s hands. You have tons of old habits you just can’t get rid of no matter how hard you try, and how much you no longer need to care about them. 

“I am willing fight you over that act.” You can almost see that twinge of evil in Allen’s eyes that just might scare you just a little bit. 

“Make another one, plus this is your apology to me right?” 

Allen glares at you but goes back to work on making another one, which his stare stops you from taking. 

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Go for it.” 

“Thanksgiving break is in a couple of weeks, what are your plans?” You get another shrug and another peanut-butter s’more elegantly laid in your hands. “Thank you for the elaboration.”

“Okay, well in theory I’ll be going back to Cross’ for the week, but that’s if I choose to call him to have him come get me. I might just stay here, it would be nice, but that costs more and I do love thanksgiving dinner. Even if it’s kind of on the cheap side with Cross.”

“Why would Cross have to come get you?” 

“Lavi, you’re pretty smart, I’m pretty sure you can figure that out.” 

Realization hits you like a ton of bricks and you feel like a completely insensitive idiot. Mana died in a car crash. 

“Oh. You don’t drive, do you?” Allen nods. “What about the buses or that stuff?”

“I don’t really like being in motor transportation at all, and it takes me a long time to get used to someone driving. Cross kind of bullied me into accepting being in the car with him because it was the easiest way to travel and he needed me to not be scared of doing it. But outside him, I’ve let very few people drive me places. Basically if it’s not in walking distance, I don’t really want to go.”

“Costume shopping.” You whisper the words to yourself.

Allen sighs and eats another s’more, before speaking again, a faint smile on his face. 

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

“No!” You’re a bit taken back by your exclamation, and Allen raises an eyebrow, urging you to explain yourself. “No… it makes sense, I mean, I understand… I hate mirrors.” 

“I can… understand that and why.” Allen falls silent, his eyes flicking to his arm. “But I think you feel it a lot worse.”

“Well, I shouldn’t, I mean, it shouldn’t bother me anymore, but it does. Old habits die hard and I just tend to avoid them unless I absolutely need to use one.” 

“Same, for cars.” 

Silence. The kind of silence you hate, the silence that is filled with thinking about painful memories. 

“Hey, Allen.” 

“Hm?”

“Why don’t we help each other? If you trust me, I can drive you places, and you can help me get past the mirror thing.” 

“I trust you.” Allen whispers and your heart flutters. “I am still going to be on edge if you’re driving though, please don’t take it personally, I just need time to get used to it.” 

“But you trust me?”

“I think I do, I mean, I’ve never been this close to anyone before. It would be strange for me to tell you everything I have and not trust you right?”

Allen has a very valid point. It makes your heart soar and a huge grin break out on your face. Allen trusts you. Such a simple statement, but you can feel the weight of the words and the fears it lifts from your chest. 

Allen laughs at your reaction but gives you another warm smile and you think he understands the importance of the word ‘trust’ to you and what you’re feeling knowing he trusts you. He reaches over and shoves a s’more into your mouth in a failed attempt to stifle your smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will continue to be slow and probably on the smaller side because I'm still working on my summer job.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and Kudos! They do really make my day! 
> 
> And yes, peanut butter s'mores are one of my food weaknesses, and they are that good.


	16. Chapter 16

Soon you realize the flaw in your thinking as you mainly leave your car at your grandfather’s house when you come to school. You don’t go out much and tend to rely on the buses if you need to go shopping, so you really don’t need a car until you go home for breaks. You’d take a bus there and back, seeing how you only live a few cities over, about a three hour trip, not too bad. 

But it’s not something you want to make Allen do if he’s not on board with the whole driving thing. You may or may not be laying awake at one in the morning planning out how you’re going to do this. You may or may not be willing to go home, drive back in your car, pick Allen up, and go for a shorter excursion. You need to get a new jacket for the colder weather, and Allen mentioned something about needed to get new shoes. You could go shopping together. 

You are clearly very desperate to spend time with Allen Walker. 

You eventually plan on the weekend before Thanksgiving break. You’re going down to your grandfather’s anyway, you’ll just tell him you need to take a friend out for a little, and you’ll be back soon. That’ll work, if Allen agrees. You may or may not text him proposing such a plan, completely forgetting it’s a little after one-thirty in the morning. 

_‘Weekend before thanksgiving i’m planning on heading to my gramps anyway and ill pick up my car and come pick you up, we could do some stuff just hang out and such before the break._   
_Crap its super late/early i hope i didn’t wake you up’_

_‘No, it’s fine, I’m up.’_

_‘Why the hell are you awake at 1:34 on a thursday??’_

_‘I could ask you the exact same question.’_

_‘Okay that’s fair._   
_But back on main topic: thoughts?’_

_‘You really don’t need to go home just to come back and get me…’_

_‘What if i want to?_   
_I mean i won’t if you don’t want to, but if you’re saying no because it’s an inconvenience to me, then no, it’s okay, i want to._   
_I like spending time with you.’_

You hit send on that last message before you can stop yourself and slap a hand over your mouth. You should not be allowed to communicate with people this early in the morning. You always say stuff you shouldn’t.

_‘I appreciate the thought… and it’s not like I don’t want to spend time with you, but it’s really out of the way for you…’_

_‘I only live three hours away by bus, it’s not that bad.’_

_‘That’s a six hour trip both ways!’_

_‘I know, and I don’t mind. I could leave friday, come back saturday morning, do stuff, then head back on sunday.’_

_‘You’ve thought this out.’_

_‘Hence why i am up at 1 in the morning.’_

_‘:)_   
_Okay, fine, if you’re dead set on it.’_

You can hardly stop the excitement bubbling up in your chest.

\----

You pick Allen up from the college early Saturday morning, after leaving your grandfather with little questioning.

_‘I’m going out for the day, gramps. I promised I’d spend some time with a friend.’_

_‘A friend, you say.’_ You didn’t like the way his eyes studied you. 

_‘Yes, a friend. I do have those.’_

_‘Yes, but last time you mentioned your friends your face didn’t look like this.’_

You threw your hands over your face and spun around. _‘I am not that transparent!’_

_‘No, but to me, you are.’_ His voice was almost mocking you. 

_‘Okay, good-bye you old panda, I’ll be back later tonight or tomorrow.’_

_‘I am not old!’_

Allen’s listening to music when he opens your car door and slides inside, and you can help but notice the tension in his posture as he fumbles with the seat buckle. 

His eyes flick to you. “I told you not to take it personally.”

“I’m not, I’m sorry, I just noticed, well, yeah…” 

Silence. No. You promised yourself no silences. 

“Open the glove box, please?” Allen does so, reaching in and pulling out a grey aux cord. His smile is like the sun, and you are almost willing to say you could live completely dependent on his happiness. 

“Thought you would be a bit more comfortable if your music was playing, like a familiar thing twisted in with the unfamiliar.”

A look crosses Allen’s face that you just can’t place, but you know it’s something akin to joy and wonder, and you know his eyes are so full of emotion, a thousand words swirling around in that pale grey expanse. You really wish you knew what he was thinking, but you can settle for just looking at his smile. 

“Lavi…” He seams lost for words, settling on “Thank you” before he carefully hooks it up to his iPod and your speakers. 

“So, um, where are we going?”

“I was thinking about going a city over for shopping, ‘cause we both need something. Also, maybe getting lunch or dinner at _Seaside_.”

“ _Seaside_?”

“You’ve never been? Okay, now for sure we’re going.” 

“It sounds like one of those expensive date places.”

“It’s… not cheap. How about appetizers and ice cream later? And we can stop and get snacks a long the way if you’re hungry. Promise I won’t judge how much you eat.” 

“This sounds awfully a lot like a date, Lavi.” 

“N-no, if it was a date, I would have asked you all proper and yeah… I wouldn’t just trick someone into dating me…” 

Allen laughs at your nervous rambles, laying a gloved hand on your arm. 

“I know, Lavi, I know.” He pulls his hand back, removes a glove, and selects a song from his iPod as you look behind your shoulder, ready to pull out onto the road. “I would date you, though.” 

It’s a causal drop, and it startles you so much you snap your head around lurching forward, just to see Allen’s soft smile reflecting in the window. You did hear him right, right? You must have, your heart would not be beating so hard if you didn’t. Allen catches your shocked face reflecting in the glass and his smile turns to a smirk, eyebrows raising. 

“R-right then, um, I’m just… just going to drive now. Yeah.” Your words trip out of your mouth as you pull out again and Allen giggles, resting his chin on his hand and continuing to stare outside.

You’re careful as you drive, paying more attention to the road than normal. It’s either that or paying attention to Allen, and that’s not going to do you any good, because just glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes is doing horrible things to your heart. He’s still tense in his seat, his hands clenched into fists on his sleeves. He’s whispering the words to a song you don’t know and staring outside, watching the road and other drivers.

“You know, Cross once told me driving is about trust. You have to trust the other people on the road not to mess up, trust them to be safe and follow the laws, trust them with your life.” His fists tighten and you shift your eyes back onto the highway in front of you. He laughs a little, leaning on the window. “I guess that’s why I don’t drive. I don’t trust people.” 

You open your mouth to speak, but as if he reads your mind, he answers the question barely off your tongue. 

“And I don’t just mean on the road.” You have a feeling he’s not really talking to you, but more like just talking in general and you happen to be listening to him. “I don’t trust other people not to hurt me.” 

You don’t really know what to say to that.

“But, I trust you. Why do I trust you?” 

“Is this a question I’m supposed to answer, or one I am supposed to pretend I never heard you say?”

He doesn’t answer you but starts to sing along with the song instead, drumming his fingers on one of his arms. His eyes dart to you for a second as he sings the next part, then away again. “I wanna dance, I wanna dance, I wanna dance with you…”

You focus on driving, forcefully ripping your thoughts away from Allen and everything he said. Take exit 43 in twelve miles. That car behind you wants to pass. The person in the green truck isn’t used to driving a car that large. Allen Walker trusts you and would date you and your heart is beating too fast and your hands are cramping on the steering wheel. 

_You really need to breathe._

“I used to listen to this album a lot last year. Odesza is a gift. _My Friends Never Die_ is my favorite song. This one, _Say My Name_ , is second. Tied with _It’s Only_.” Allen turns to look your way, his tension still present in his body, but he appears to be a little more comfortable about being in your car. Maybe it’s the trust thing. Maybe it’s the music. Maybe it’s maybelline. 

“Odesza?” If Allen wants to use music as a distraction from the current conversation, you are more than happy to grab this life line. 

“Yeah. A duo that makes indie-elecronic, elecropop, and chillwave music.” 

“I’m going to be completely honest and tell you I’m not completely sure what that means, but it sounds really cool.”

“Thanks for being honest.” Allen smiles. “I’m kind of a music junkie, so I know and care too much about all that stuff… most people think it’s pretty strange.”

“So what? I can tell you every detail of every book I’ve ever read and other fun facts. Did you know Stephen King originally didn't want to finish _Carrie_? He actually threw away a draft of the book - this was back when that literally would have destroyed the book; no computers to save files on - but his wife fished it out and encouraged him to continue it. Paperback rights sold for $400,000 later on.”

Allen laughs, shifting in his seat to face you more. “No, I did not know that.” 

You grin. “I think it’s cool to listen to people talk about what they’re passionate about.” 

“I don’t know if I’m passionate about it, or if I just used it to get through hard times. Like I said, music _junkie_. I used music to get through some days like some people use drugs. I don’t even remember what happened my freshman year, only that Bonnie McKee’s _Sleepwalker_ was pretty much my anthem.” 

“I’ve never heard it.”

“I can fix that.” Allen removes his right glove again (you didn’t even see him put it back on) and makes a few quick tapping movements on the glass screen. The music changes immediately, an interesting sound greeting your ears. 

“This… is a pretty deep song.” 

“I felt, I felt nothing… Yeah, it is. I could relate to it a lot before I got better, just feeling nothing at all. It was horrible.” Allen shakes his head, putting on a smile. “I’m sorry, I’m dampening the mood too much. You’re doing something really nice for me, and I’m talking about my high school years.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, but I do. I don’t like being all down and depressing, that’s why I worked so hard to change.” Something shoots through your heart. “Let’s talk about something else, and listen to something else.”

His hands dart over his iPod again, selecting another song with a smile. “ _Mason Jar_. This song just reminds me of summer. So, Lavi, what are you doing for the holidays?” 

“Nothing much, mostly I’m going to be spending time with my grandfather and maybe helping him organize some new books if he has any. My grandfather collects and translates rare documents.” 

“That sounds very fun. Exactly how I would want to spend a week off school. Doing work.” 

“Quite you. I do fun things too, like take my best friend shopping for instance.” 

“I’m your best friend?” Allen’s face lights up again, a light pink dusting appears on his cheeks.

“Of course you are.”

“Thank you… You’re my best friend too, Lavi. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to anyone.” 

Now you’re blushing horribly. “A-are you trying to make me crash this car? Because these comments are not making it easy to focus on the road.” Ten more minutes, at most. You’ll be able to park in ten minutes. 

“No.” Allen’s voice wavers for a second, but his smile is sweet and teasing. “But I would think it would take a lot more to distract you than me running my mouth.” 

_Yes, but it isn’t so much the fact Allen’s talking a lot, it is more what he’s saying that has got you all flustered. How are you expected to think straight when Allen is so blatantly flirting with you?_

Wait what.

He is. Your mind is reeling. He is flirting with you. That’s what this is, isn’t it? This is flirting. 

“You look like you just solved a really hard math problem.”

“I think… I think I just realized something.”

“Are you going to tell me what?”

“No… I’m going to push it to the back of my mind, get through the rest of the day, then start planning how to act on this new information.” 

Allen smiles, saying ‘Lavi, you’re such a dork’ but it comes out under the words “Okay, then. Are we almost there?”

“Yeah, we’re only a mile out now.”

Allen makes a humming noise in agreement, fidgeting in his seat. 

“So… what are you here to get again?”

“A new jacket, this one is just soooooo last season.”

“Really? I would think you would need a new scarf, this one is a bit… loved.” 

“And that’s what makes it great.” You flash him a quick smile and pull onto the exit, scanning the areas for the right street names. 

He’s flirting with you, he literally said he would date you, _how on earth are you supposed to be able to deal with this new information??_ How do you even go about approaching this? Simply asking him to date you seems too easy, not enough, not good enough for him. But what if he asked you?? Besides being on cloud nine and maybe passing out, how would you respond?? 

“Have you ever been to the city, Allen?” You spit out the first question to tangent your thoughts.

“No.” You don’t think he notices the way he clutches the seatbelt as you pull into the parking spot, but you do. You notice a lot of things about him. “I don’t get out much and I didn’t live around here until I moved for college.”

“Really? You made it sound like you traveled a lot as a child.”

“I did, in the circus. Mana tried to give me a stable life though, for a while. When I lived with Cross we moved around a lot, but I was able to stay in the same place for high school. When I was looking for colleges, I picked the one farthest from home.” Allen flashes you a look. “As I’ve mentioned, high school wasn’t great for me. I wanted out.” 

“Yeah, but you have lived here for four months; have you never left the campus?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, not really. I didn’t go anywhere freshman year unless I absolutely needed to.” Your eyes dart to Allen’s hands. “You can let go now, we’re getting out.” 

“Oh.” He lets go of the seatbelt slowly, and you would bet if his gloves were off his knuckles would be white. “Sorry about that…”

“I’m not taking offense to it. But I can’t help imagining what it must have been like… moving around a lot and being… like this. I mean, I kind of get it, my grandfather’s work always took me across the world to meet tons of people back when I was pretty much afraid of going outside.” 

“You? Afraid of being social? I don’t believe it.” 

“Yeah, well when you’re pretty much living hell for the first fifteen years because you’re stuck being someone you’re not - it does something to you. It took me a long time to undo that damage, and I still have problems sometimes, not seeing the world as something out to get me.”

“I know what you mean. Most days I think I’m still learning.” Allen turns to you, the softest, most understanding smile on his lips. "Let’s go, Lavi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rises from the grave of being a camp counselor with an update* 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the comments and Kudos, and for patiently waiting while I was away so often! I am back home now for the rest of summer, but I am moving, so that might slow down my writing, but hopefully I can return to a steady updating pace very soon. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

You walk to the shopping center doors exchanging only small things, _where are we going, I normally shop at a few locations, I’ve only heard of a few of these stores, I’m sure you can find something, I don’t know I’m very picky about what I wear, it’ll be fine Allen._

The first stop is a store you’ve always been fond of, something about it just felt right when you walked in. Plus you love one of the styles available - something about the post-apocalyptic fashion always draws you in when it came to jackets. That and leather, and just general things that looked comfy. Your grandfather once said you liked clothing you could hide in. You hate to admit it, but he was probably right in saying that. 

You shouldn’t need to feel like you’re hiding from people, but you just can’t help it sometimes. And in your defense, post-apocalyptic jackets are really cool looking.

“I feel like I could survive the zombie uprising in this.” 

“I feel like someone shouldn’t wear something with so much hanging off of it if they’re fighting zombies.”

“Allen. Mood-kill.” 

“Come on, it’s completely impractical for combat, it could be grabbed or snag on something when you’re running. Can’t escape zombies if your jacket’s caught on a fence.”

“Well for one, zombies aren’t that bright. For two, I won’t be actually running away from zombies, I’ll just be walking around campus looking super cool.”

“Or kind of like a wandering vagabond.” 

“A wandering vagabond… from an apocalyptic movie!” 

“Lavi… you’re such a dork.” Allen flashes you a signature smile and pulls on one of the coats, flipping the large hood up dramatically.

“You look so cool right now.” You almost want to say sexy. Almost. You do have some level of restraint.

“That’s nice, I can’t see anything.” You shift the cloth back a bit and turn Allen so he’s facing the full body mirror. “Okay, combat practically aside… this is a pretty… rad looking outfit. I think it looks better on you though, this isn’t really my style.” 

“It could be, if you embraced it. But if you want to stay semi-formal, I won’t hold it against you.” 

“I could embrace and rock any look, thank you. But ‘semi-formal’ does fit me quite well, I think. Even though I do like this look a little.” Your smile is huge. “A little! Doesn’t mean I’m going to get it!” 

“Well, I think it looks great on you and now I have a great Christmas present idea.” 

Allen rolls his eyes, shrugging out of the coat as quickly as he can. 

“You’d wear it if I bought it for you, right?”

“It would be very rude to turn down a gift, so I wouldn’t have much of a choice, would I?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, I would, Lavi, and I would love it’.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth.” Allen smiles again, ruining his attempt at being slightly mean to you. 

“Do you not like getting things from people?”

“It’s just hard sometimes. Have you ever tried to put a wrinkly dollar into a vending machine? That’s what happens when people give me things, it’s just frustrating and awkward for everyone involved.” Allen picks up a hooded vest, formal and yet a little spunky, much like him, you note. “I guess I like getting things, but I don’t like feeling like a charity case… holidays are okay, I guess…”

“I keep forgetting how different we grew up… I loved getting things from my grandfather and the people he talked to, old clothes, binders, books, I got to be me that way.” 

“Well, I can understand that. And I loved getting things from Mana when he adopted me, new things, better clothes, but after he died everything people did for me seamed to be out of pity. I didn’t want to be pitied.” Allen smiled a bit then. “It actually got easier with Cross when I learned to gamble. I could afford anything I wanted, within reason, and then I didn’t feel bad about gifts because I wasn’t relying solely on them. I could buy what I needed.”

“Allen.” You put a hand on his shoulder, dramatically staring into his eyes. “I feel you way too hard right now. I was so eager to work because as much as I loved getting stuff I felt so guilty relying on my grandfather for everything. But if you ever meet him, never tell him that, okay? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Allen laughs, his face returning to that smile you love so much. “You got it, Lavi. But talking about meeting the parents already? Wow, you’re so forward.” 

With that, Allen saunters out of the store, leaving you dumbstruck, your eyes locked on his exiting frame until the clerk asks you if you’ll be making a purchase today. You stammer out a yes and place the coat you picked out on the counter, added the one Allen liked as well. It looked good on him, and bam Christmas shopping done early. 

You exit the store bag in hand and quite ready to lash out a witty retort, but it dies on your tongue when you see Allen. He’s standing at one of the stores across from the one you just left, his eyes locked on the mannequin in the window - a white body clothed in a pastel crop top and high wasted shorts. There is a look on his face you know too well, the look you wore when you went shopping as a child, when you looked at the boy’s section as your mother dragged you to the girl’s. A look of longing and want.

“An interesting color combination.” Allen makes his quick comment, turning to you. “Done in there?”

“You like it, don’t you? That outfit.”

“I find it interesting.” Allen’s tone is flat, as if he’s said that statement many times before, as if he’s stated that lie many times before. The lie that you hope you can trick yourself into believing if you say it enough. _Yes, i like dresses, i like what mom buys, i am her daughter._ Lies that sting like a shot to the heart every time you say them. 

“Is that so?” You cross your arms and look at it, tilting your head slightly. “I think it’s a bit impractical considering the fact that summer is gone and winter’s coming, but besides that, I think it would look good on you.” 

It was now Allen’s turn to be dumbstruck, only finding his voice again to give a shrug and a light ha. 

“I’m not lying, in the fashion world you, my friend, are average, if not petite. That means you could totally pull off that look if you wanted to, well personally I think anyone can pull off whatever look they want to, but you would definitely look good in that.”

Allen mumbles something, you think it’s you would think I looked good in anything and you can’t even defend yourself from that statement so you pretend you don’t hear it instead. 

“Thank you, I guess, but I’m not in the market for new clothing right now.”

“True, plus it might not be in season next spring. You said you needed new shoes right?”

“Yeah…” Allen rolls his shoulders and turns to face you, his eyes jumping back to the mannequin only once. “But I’m looking for something very specific. I normally order online because I’ve never found what I want in stores.”

“That’s okay, it will still be nice just to walk around and talk with you.” 

Allen gives you another warm smile and you wonder if he knows he makes your heart melt every time he does that - he probably does and is enjoying torturing you. 

You’re in too deep. This crush is beginning to be a problem. 

You walk with Allen exchanging minor conversation while he scans the windows of the stores you pass. He asks about your grandfather. You tell him your grandfather practically saved you, getting you what you needed, validating your emotions and thoughts, taking you from your mother’s home, always looking out for your best interests, making sure you were safe and educated. You tell him you owe your grandfather your life, and you’re eternally grateful for everything he’s done for you. You also tell him you’ve never told him any of this, but you have the feeling he knows. 

You ask Allen to tell you more about Mana, in exchange and a soft expression falls on his face, one twisted between happy memories and a painful jab of reality. He tells you how Mana and him met, bonding together due to Mana’s dog who died. You ask Allen if he lives in a sad dog-dies-at-the-end movie. 

“No, weren’t you listening? The dog died at the beginning. And don’t talk about dead dogs, if I lose Timcanpy I will be in tears for _years_.” 

He confesses Mana might have been a little out of it and started calling him the dog’s name just out of connivence and confusion, but he really didn’t care because at least it was a name and Allen Walker was born. He tells you about how hard Mana worked to get a house, a job, and put Allen into school, everything he did to make sure Allen had a better life. 

“Mana only did a few years in community college, focusing on performance art. I don’t know how well he did, considering he dropped out to be a clown in a traveling circus, but he was determined that I should do better, go farther with my life, but if I wanted to do something like him, that I should follow that path. He made it very clear that he expected a lot from me, but was okay with me doing what I wanted as well. He died before I entered eighth grade, and even though it was really hard, I forced myself back into high school because I knew that’s what he would have wanted from me.”

“Allen… your life is my favorite inspirational story.” 

Allen lets out a sharp laugh. “My life is hardly an inspirational story. It’s just a story about a broken kid learning how to live again.” 

“Those are the most inspirational stories.”

Allen stops suddenly, too quickly for you to notice until you’re two steps ahead of him. When you turn around, Allen’s staring into the window of a store you’ve walked by once or twice, tempted to go into never getting around to actually doing it. Everything in there was formfitting, with a fashion you weren’t sure how to name, but the thing that seamed to catch Allen’s eyes were the selection of knee high lace up boots just out of view in the window. 

“I will admit, I did not expect to find what I was looking for. I didn’t know this company had a physical store, I’ve only used them online. A good brand, a bit on the more expensive side, but their stuff lasts.” With that quick assessment, Allen heads into the store with you following behind. 

You glance around in aw, taking the lack of togetherness about the store’s collection - not one style predominated yet everything in the room appeared to go together, everything simple yet elaborate and off the wall. It seamed exactly like a place Allen would shop.

When you turn back to him, Allen is studying the boot selection carefully, eyes lighting up when he comes across a specific pair. Tall, black, cuffed, with something that looked like large silver zippers in the front. You think they look fantastic. You can only imagine what they looked like on him. 

“I thought they stopped making these! They’re my favorite style and I will admit I was torn up when I couldn’t find them online when my old pair wore out last spring, but these are new and in great condition and the price is fair… plus I love them so…”

“Are you always such a vocal shopper?” Allen’s not talking to you, he’s just talking out loud to help him make up his mind. It’s kind of cute, considering he had full intention of making the purchase, so he didn’t really need to debate anything, let alone do so out loud.

“I do most of my shopping online, so yes I am. Also Cross had a nasty habit of walking up behind me and questioning every item I had in my cart or even looked at. I needed to be ready to explain and justify myself at any moment.”

“He sounds controlling.” It reminds you of your mother, the way she watched what you looked at, kept track of what you wore and when, of what you wanted to buy. It took you a couple years and taking with other kids to learn it was normal for a parent to be involved but not so normal for parents to control everything about your life, guilt tripping you into doing as they say and forcing you to be their agenda. Other people’s parents didn’t keep track of their clothing and make sure they looked as feminine as possible at all times. 

“Not really.” Allen makes a confused face. “He was actually pretty laid back and open about everything. I mean, he often let me do my own thing, which could have been neglect, but I don’t think so… I think he just liked harassing me, but it was his way of looking out for me and making sure I didn’t do something completely stupid.” As Allen speaks his expression shifts into one of displeasure, like he just bit into something highly unpleasant. “Wow, I can’t believe I’m actually justifying Cross’ actions and supporting them. What is the world coming to?”

Allen shakes his head and brings his smile back to his face, just in time for the sales clerk comes over to ask if he can be of assistance. Allen asks for the size he needs with an eager sparkle to his eyes and the clerk leaves as quick as he arrived. 

“Well, that was surprisingly easy to get. I was expecting a fruitless venture, or having to settle on something I was only iffy about.” Allen swayed back and forth, glancing down at his overly loved black and white converse. “I like these, but I really missed my boots. Like, really missed them.” 

“And then you tell me I need to replace my scarf.” You stick your tongue out at Allen and he rolls his eyes.

“You don’t see me wearing my old boots.”

“Old boots are different than scarves. Boots get worn to pieces, scarves get loved.” 

Allen laughs with a smile and closed eyes, his expression telling you he understands what you mean and he would never actually tell you to throw out your scarf. The clerk comes back and Allen pays quickly, leaving with his thanks and in a state of absolute delight. 

“I can’t wait to wear these again.”

“I’m glad you found what you wanted.” You would swim through lava to see Allen this happy. You also probably need to reevaluate your crush obsession status. “Are you ready to do lunch?” 

Allen responds with a eager nod and you make your way back to the car chatting about school, the winter quarter and the classes and exams you have coming up. As you’re getting into the car, Allen starts in on philosophy, explaining to you the basic theories to define what makes a person who they are. He scoffs at something he calls ‘body theory’, saying it was just ridiculous to say someone’s identity solely relied on their body and genetic code. 

“I think it’s complete garbage.” He spits out the comment while hooking up his iPod again, letting music fill your ears along with his voice. “In high school I got a picture of identical twins and had to explain what it meant to be a human being. I’ve never had more fun writing a paper. I got to crush the body theory, saying if that was true twins who share the same DNA would be the same person, and they’re not, therefore that theory is wrong. We are not our bodies, they don’t define us.”

“How would you define a human then?” Talking to Allen about this, seeing him so passionate about something you hold so dear, makes your heart sing, a warm feeling settling in your chest.

“Well, personally I believe our experiences and the people we know who shape us. I am who I am today due to the people in my past who have had an impact on my life and the choices I have made. It just makes more sense, it accounts for personality, the impacts on our lives, and how people have rubbed off on us.” 

“I think I like that theory more.” 

“Yep. I had a fight with someone in philosophy class about this Senior year. Among other things. We didn’t get along very well, and he was an ass. The teacher eventually moved me to the other side of the room so we could glare at each other in peace and not spit comments back and forth all period.” 

“I want to ask if you can really hold that much anger, but I’ve seen you and Kanda in the same room, I know you can be spiteful when you want to.” 

The song changes and Allen’s full attention shifts to the speakers. “Oh yes… can I turn it up?”

“Sure.”

Allen completely relaxes as he flicks the dial, leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes. You would have never guessed Allen was scared of being in a car, everything about his posture told you he was at ease, if not enjoying himself. You know it’s mostly the music, but you can’t help but take a small sliver of pride in knowing it’s you whom Allen trusts to relax around. 

You let the music serve as the only noise as you rack your mind for the route to take to get to _Seaside_. 

You haven’t been there for years; you happened to visit the city once with your grandfather on business and this was the place his contact chose to meet. You were captivated instantly, the view from the large windows looked out directly over the ocean, and you could see everything from the ships sailing to the sunset to the curve of the horizon. Turn your head to the right, and the view became the waves crashing on the cliff-side shore, when the tide was in waves could reaching into the cave, when it was out you could walk through the cave, to see the waves crashing down on the rocks on the other side of the tunnel. The wind and the waves and fog there -- you’ve seen few places more beautiful. 

You really hope you’re going the right way, although you wouldn’t mind taking a few wrong turns if Allen’s here. Well, your broke college student life style might, but if you can’t indulge yourself every once in a while to a good time with your best friend, are you really living?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say, other than thank you for your continued patience and support! Sorry I haven't been replying to comments lately, but they still mean the world to me.


	18. Chapter 18

“Lavi, this is beautiful.”

Allen’s captivated by the view. All throughout the meal, his eyes had either been on you or out the large glass windows, staring off into the ocean or the shore line. You could see the younger version of yourself in his eyes, the same amazement in his gaze, the same surprised and thunderstuck look on his face. He was only drawn away from the view when the appetizers arrived, just to be equally impressed by the food.

“I’ve been a lot of places, but this is one of my favorites.” 

You’re both outside now, watching the waves and people running about on the sand. Allen’s almost completely leaning over the short white walls of Seaside’s viewing area; you’re standing a little behind him, wishing you had a camera to capture the way Allen’s coat is fluttering in the wind, the look on his face, the gentle sway of his hair, the way his arms are folded over the wall, how peaceful he looks. A picture could never capture what you’re looking at, and you give a silent thanks to your nearly perfect memory, because you’re not going to forget this any time soon. 

“And you just happened to choose a school within driving distance?”

“I chose a school closer to home, which did mean closer to places I knew. Not all of us ran away across the country.” 

Allen laughs a little, tilting his head back as the ocean tinted breeze ripples through his hair. “True, but I had good reason to do so. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met you and oh, what a sad life that would have been.”

“Yeah…” You walk up next to Allen, leaning out to look at the ocean, or rather to look like you’re doing that and not just staring at Allen Walker. Which you are. “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss you, either.” 

“I’m glad.” Allen’s voice is a whisper lost on the wind and you strain to hear it’s message. “It’s nice to feel wanted.”

“It is, isn’t it?” 

“The last time I felt wanted by someone… I don’t even know where to start. She was insane. I don’t even want to go into it.” Allen’s head falls to his arms, but he never takes his eyes off the ocean. There is a look in his eyes - glossy and unblinking - that you hate. Disgust, shame, pain - something Allen doesn’t want to think about and something you don’t want to see on his face.

“The tide’s on the way out, do you want to explore the cave when it is?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

\----

“I haven’t been to the beach in years.” It’s the first thing out of your mouth as your orange sneakers sink into the sand. Sink just enough to make it hard to walk, not enough to worry about sand getting in them. 

“I haven’t been since the accident.” Allen’s next to you, carefully stepping on the half buried rocks for as far as they’ll take him. “Senior year the class took a trip to the beach, I stayed behind at the school, one of three students that didn’t go. The amount of times I was asked why I didn’t go was incredible.” 

“Some people don’t understand the whole ‘I don’t do things that make me uncomfortable’ thing very well, do they?” 

Laughter flies off your tongues easily, and you feel a sense of peace with the wind, the crashing waves, and Allen Walker standing next to you. A few words trickle into your head and they startle you, but you’re not shocked or in denial as you were before, they merge into your thoughts with simple acceptance, and you know later when you’re lying awake in your bead because you can’t sleep to save your life the fear and anxiety just might kick in, but for now, you think you might love Allen Walker. 

“I did go to the beach once in Junior year. It was raining that day and there wasn’t anyone around for miles. I just got on the bus and got off when I saw the sand. I…” Allen stops for a second and you glance at him. “I danced.” 

You hum a bit in response, your mind drifting back to the beginning of the year, when you saw Allen dance out side. He was absolutely mesmerizing, and he probably had no idea you’d seen him.

“Hmmm? That’s all I get?” Allen jokingly prods you. “Come on, Lavi. It’s not every day someone tells you they danced in the rain on the beach once. You should at least be surprised.”

“I saw you once.” You don’t mean to blurt it out, but once the words leave your mouth you can’t take them back so you keep talking to clear the confusion from Allen’s face. “Dance, I mean. Near the start of the quarter, it was early in the morning and I looked outside and you were dancing. It was beautiful. I really wanted to look away because I felt like a total creep just watching you like that, but I couldn’t. You were too beautiful to look away from.” 

Allen’s looking away from you and it scares you for a moment, not knowing what he’s thinking, not knowing if you’ve said the wrong thing, if it was another secret your should have simply buried and forgot. 

“I’ll take that as a complement, I guess.” Allen takes a slight glance at you, just enough for yo to see the pale dusting on his face. “So you’ve known all this time and never asked me about it?”

“Seemed like something pretty private, it wasn’t my place to ask about it.”

“No one else thinks like you do, Lavi.” He says it like he’s critiquing your way of thinking, but he still has a smile on his face. “Well, I know you must have questions. They all do.”

“We’ve been over this, Allen. I know what it’s like to have my life invaded, so why would I do that to you?” 

“Curiosity killed the cat?” Allen’s rocks start to rise from the ground, merging more into the cliff side, but he steps on them with grace, letting himself enjoy the hight before he needs to join you on the sand.

“Do you want me to invade your life?”

“I don’t think I would mind too much if it was you.”

Silence drifts between you as your heart flutters in your chest. Allen’s eyes flick to the ground, a sigh escaping his lips. 

“Okay, then.” You gulp and offer up your hand, which Allen takes with a smile in his eyes, and you guide his jump down onto the sand. “Why dance?”

“Because kick boxing was full.” 

“Well, I’m not going to ask if you’re going to lie.” Allen sticks the landing perfectly, and you notice how he doesn’t let go of your hand immediately; rather he’s reluctant to let go. It definitely makes you sad when his gloved fingers don’t intertwine with yours, when they slowly drag out of your palm and instead fall at his side. 

“It’s the truth! Kind of. I did want to take kick boxing, and Cross wanted it to, so I could ‘get out all my anger’. But… I wasn’t angry. I was just so…” Allen stops walking, head tilted back, his shoulders tense. “It’s hard to explain what I felt, but I already used music as an outlet, why not take up dancing? It’s art and expression, and I could be as angry and violent or as free and open as I needed to be. There was just so much room for me to be… me.”

“And you didn’t just turn to writing depressing, eighth-grade-emo-phase poetry instead?” Allen lifts his head up at your quip, a lightly amused look on his face. 

“Actually, I did try, but I liked dancing more. The words never just ‘came to me’, every line was a struggle, but choreography - that I can do in my head.”

You smile and tug at Allen’s sleeve, _come on, let’s go_ , and start walking again. 

“What about you, Lavi? Any emotional outlets?” 

“I have been known to write, but it was mainly just steam of conscience stuff, nothing of substance. Besides that, I haven’t done much. Not a very artsy person.” 

“That’s okay, not everyone has to be, but I do think you’d be a good writer.” 

“Why?”

“It just seems like the words come to you and you have stories in your head to tell.” 

With that comment you reach the edge of the cave, the sun barely reaching into the dark expanse. You know from experience the middle of the cave is very dark, but only for a minute or so, until it fades back to barely lit, just enough to see where you’re going from the sun on either side. But the darkness is not the part that makes most people freeze in their tracks. It’s the sound of the waves when they crash on to the rocks at the other side, the way it echoes through the tunnel, reaching into your body the same way the thunder of rainstorms does - you love it. 

“Well that looks dark and mysterious, and if this was the first five minutes of _The X Files_ , you know we’d be dead for waking in there.” 

“Nonsense, normally you have to be alone in order to die on _The X Files_ , we’re together so we’re good. And it’s not that bad. The very middle is just dark for a little. If you don’t mind loud sounds like thunder, we’re good.”

“I don’t mind thunder.”

“Good. Allons-y!”

You take the lead walking into the cave, loving the feel of the damp sand beneath your shoes, something you haven’t known for some time. The smell of the sea almost doubles inside the cave, with the damp musk of the walls mixing with the wet sand and salty air. Each breath seems so clean, and so sticky on your skin. Allen stays right behind you, inching closer and closer the darker the tunnel becomes. If he were taller, you would be able to feel his breath on your neck. Allen’s lucky you really don’t have a concept of ‘personal space’ around people you like. 

You’re just past the middle of the tunnel when the waves crash, the sound of their majesty echoing through the tunnel and rattling against the walls. Allen doesn’t flinch at the sudden noise, but rather you feel his chest rise deeply and hear a content sigh leave his lungs. You’re almost sure his eyes are closed and his mouth is smiling, feeling everything around you, from the damp cold of the cavern walls to the great power of the ocean waves. Your suspicions are confirmed when his arms snake around yours and he leans into your touch, letting you guide him through the tunnel. 

“I haven’t felt like this since Madeon released his new album.” 

“Madeon?”

“I’m going to get you an iTunes card for Christmas.” A pause. “Then _I’m_ going to buy you new music with it.” 

You chuckle and it reverberates off the walls. Allen’s voice joins yours, bouncing around, a cheerful, soft sound. He opens his eyes slowly as you approach the end of the tunnel, body still leaning into yours. You could definitely get used to this, oh yes, you could definitely get used to this. 

The end of the tunnel comes into view right as a wave crashes into the cliffside. Allen lets out a half gasp, eyes now wide, an amazed look on his face. Water runs down the sharp rocks, foam drifting back down to the sea, you guide Allen up to the chain that marks the end of the path and the beginning of the drop down into the ravine. Only moments later the waves crash again, and you’re sprinkled with light touches of water. 

“There is a lot of personality here.” Allen whispers, an arm gesturing to the rocks, some stained with brightly colored paint and abstract markings. Most were old, pale, worn away by time and water.

“Well, I think the ocean will take back what’s hers. Mother Nature has a knack for doing that.” 

“I’m more wondering how they got over there without falling.”

“Skill and a lot of luck, probably.” 

Allen’s quite for a moment, watching the waves flow out and crash back into the rock wall below you. 

“If the tide were high, we would get soaked standing here.”

“If I came here a two years ago, I probably would have wanted to throw myself down there.” 

A beat. A crash of the waves. A twist of the ocean breeze. 

You don’t know how to respond to that. But it shakes you. A little stab of fear twists into your heart. It scares you to hear him say it, but you know what he means. You’ve felt it, a long time ago, right before you broke, right before you found freedom in a new life. Would you have thought the same, if you came here with your mother and not with your grandfather? A sickening feeling flips in your stomach. You know the answer. 

“I’m really glad I’m better. And I’m glad I could come somewhere like this and not feel like I want to get carried away. And I’m glad I met you, Lavi. Thank you for showing me this.” 

“What a solemn note to end the day on.” It’s all you can comment on, but something in your voice quavers, and you hope Allen can hear what you don’t say. 

“It’s my special talent.” His tone tells you he knows. “Let’s just stay here a while, okay?”

\----

Allen’s music is low on the way back. You would have to strain yourself to make out the words, so you simply allow it to fill the background. Silence. You didn’t want there to be silence. 

“You scare me sometimes.” The words leave your mouth before you even realize what you are thinking. 

Allen blinks, your comment something he didn’t expect to hear, but then shrugs, as if to say he’s heard it before. “I scare myself sometimes.” 

“It makes me wonder what happened to you.”

“You know what happened.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

A tired sigh. “I didn’t cope well.” 

…

Silence.

“I’m sorry.” You both say the same words, both probably for the same reason.

“I didn’t mean to make you remember something you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t mean to drag up sad things on one of the best days I’ve had in a while.”

“As long as it was a good day, anything’s okay.” 

“It was a great day, Lavi.” Allen places a hand on your arm. It reminds you of something from an old movie, like something an elegant lady would do at a party. “I haven’t had such a nice day in a long time.”

“Well, I’m glad my master plan worked.”

“And here I thought your master plan was just to spend time around me.” Allen’s tone lightens and you mentally pat yourself on the back for being able to brighten the mood, again. 

“True, I won’t deny it.” You only have a few minutes before you reach the college. A few minutes before you drop Allen off and drive back to your grandfather’s. You want those minutes to be the longest of your life. “But seeing you happy is it’s own reward.” 

“You’re so cheesy and yet so sweet, and frankly, I don’t know what to do with you.”

_You could date me?_ NO. You catch that comment before it can be another thing you didn’t mean to say. At least you have a filter when it really counts. 

As you pull into the parking lot next to your dorm, Allen leans toward the window, eyebrows furrowed, mouth open slightly, a faint _no_ of disbelief escaping his lips.

“What’s up?”

“That,” Allen points to truck, black and rough looking. “is Cross’s. I would know it anywhere.” 

“Were you expecting him?”

“No.” 

Allen snatches his iPod and jumps out of your car the second you park, walking toward the truck with a level of anger and curiosity in his step. The second Allen’s outside your car, the door of the truck opens and you see red hair. Lots of red hair. It sends shivers down your spine in a way you hate. You clammer out after him as quickly as you can. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t say I expected you to come out of someone’s car.”

“Lavi Bookman, Cross Marian. Cross Marian, Lavi Bookman. Why are you here?” Allen’s tone is sharp, a hint of annoyance in it, almost the tone he takes with Kanda, but not, this one has something you can’t pin down. Either fear, respect, or acceptance. Maybe a strange convoluted mix of all three. It’s hard for you to understand Allen’s relationship with his guardian. 

“I had to move. Far away.”

“Debts chasing you again?”

“Cute. No, this one’s on you.” 

You’re lost in the conversation, but it’s clear that Allen isn’t. His face shifts, like Cross’ words were a physical blow. 

“Still?”

“People are persistent. Thought you learned that already.”

“Okay so I know why you’re here, but why are you _here_.”

“What, you think I would leave you alone for Thanksgiving?”

“A person can dream, can’t they?” Allen mumbles the comment to you, but he seems to have accepted his fate. 

Allen turns to you with a warm smile, you know he means it for you, but you also know it’s forced. You just don’t know what it’s hiding. 

“Thank you, Lavi, for the day. It was really nice to spend time with you. I’ll see you when we get back. I’m sorry to just leave like this, but something… came up.”

“It’s okay, Allen. If you don’t want to tell me, I don’t need to know. I’ll see you.”

Allen looks as if he wants to do something; he even bites his lip a little and wow, you really never expected that to be so cute. What ever he’s mulling over he decides against and gives you another smile before walking around to the other side of the truck and climbing in. 

You’re still standing there when they leave, and it’s not until after Allen’s out of your sight that you remember his bag in your trunk.

\----

“Have fun?”

“Yes, actually. It was a very nice day.”

“I’m glad. You need to get out more.” He doesn’t sound like he really means it, but he does sound happy for you.

“I like him a lot.” 

“I can tell.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, gramps.” 

“No one ever does, Lavi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the long awaited next chapter! Thank you all for waiting, my life has been kind of a mess. As I am now a college student, I can't promise regular updates, but I will not drop this. Hopefully, I can get a chapter up per month. Also, I'm writing a ton of laven drabbles right now, which you can find on my tumblr if you're curious. 
> 
> And as always, thank you for the comments, kudos, and for reading.


	19. Chapter 19

Thanksgiving passes by too quickly, and the only Allen contact you have is when he texts you at the end of the parade with an excited _LAVI THE DOG SHOW IS NEXT OMG_ followed by a picture of himself laying on a huge mass of yellow fur. You guess that must be the Timcanpy Allen loves so much, but most of your thoughts are consumed by how cute and happy he looks in that picture and wondering if it would be a sin to set that photo as your phone background. 

You make it your home screen, leaving your lock screen the signing of the declaration of independence with _‘and we’ll never be ROYALS’_ photoshopped onto it. You think it’s funny, and when Allen saw it he spent the next several minutes near tears he was laughing so hard, so it does remind you of him. 

School rolls around again, the weather takes a turn for even colder than before, and since the November holiday has passed, it’s officially Christmas season. It only takes a day in the dorms for lights and wreaths and garland to be strung up almost everywhere. People tend to go all out. 

You find Allen quickly on the first day back and return his purchase. He apologizes for leaving it with you, seeing Cross just surprised him a lot. You brush it off, telling him it’s no big deal, that kind of stuff happens all the time. You cant stop yourself from reaching out and touching the ends of his hair, which just barely rest on his shoulders. 

“It’s longer than when we first met.” You haven’t noticed, probably since you haven’t spent much time away from Allen lately. 

“I decided to grow it out a bit, just to see what it would look like.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” 

\----

Even the coffee shop is coated wall to wall in Christmas decorations. It’s almost obnoxious, but you can’t help that giddy feeling of _it’s Christmas_ from crawling into your stomach. You order yourself a peppermint mocha to celebrate. Allen looks around, a light, almost amazed smile on his face and orders a peppermint hot chocolate. 

“People really get festive here.” 

“Christmas is a big deal, it’s one of the two times a year you can get all you can get ‘cause the getting is good.” 

Allen gives you a look verging on disappointment. You’ve never been scolded by someone’s gaze before. It’s intense. And uncomfortable.

“I’m joking, Al, it’s from the Peanuts. We all know people love making others happy through giving, and that’s the true meaning of Christmas.” 

“I think your previous statement was more correct.” He takes a sip and recoils a bit. “Did you call me Al?”

“Nicknames happen. Haven’t you heard me talk to Lenalee? Lena, L, L-cubed, the list goes on and on.” 

“Nicknames, huh?” An impish look in his eyes. “I kind of like JerKanda. Or BaKanda. I actually can’t pick.” 

You, in a very dignified manner, snort at Allen’s comment, leaning back ward as you laugh. “Well aren’t you cute?” 

“I am _very_ cute, Lavi. Adorable, really. You should see me in an oversized sweatshirt. It’s almost criminal.” Every word and facial expression is exaggerated, but you can’t help but agree with every statement. Enthusiastically agree with every statement, if you’re being honest. 

“Well that wouldn’t be too hard, considering you’re already _very cute_ as you say. I’d pay to see it.” Look at you! Successfully flirt-joking back without blowing a mental fuse! You should get an award for that! 

“And I would pay to see you in a suit, but we can all dream Lavi.” 

“You want to see me in a suit?” You smirk, leaning forward. 

Allen matches your position and mimics you. “You want to see me in an oversized sweatshirt?” 

“I could also go for that outfit you were looking at in the store.” 

That makes a pinkish color rise to his face and you’re half surprised, half impressed. You haven’t been able to one up him yet. It makes you feel kind of good, especially considering all Allen has to do is breathe and you’re a mess. 

He mumbles something thats sounds negative in context, and is probably about him not being able to wear something like that. 

“I think you would look great in it. And if you like it, I say go for it.” 

“Maybe when it’s not almost snowing it’s so cold.” You love the light shine of giddiness in his eyes. 

\----

“We should do a white elephant gift exchange!”

 “A what?”

“It’s where you buy a gift at and put it in a pile, then you draw numbers and pick a present, so you don’t know who will get your gift.” Lenalee claps her hand together excitedly. 

“I kinda bought Allen a gift already.” 

“Well then you can still give it to him, just as a group with all out friends, we’ll do a white elephant.” She winks at you. “You can give it to him, then happen to notice you’re standing under the mistletoe, and whoops, go in for a kiss!”

“Lenalee! You’re such a teenage romance writer!” 

“Honey.” She lays an hand on your arm and batts her eyes at you. “If I was writing your story, you and Allen would have been a thing by now.” 

\----

It starts snowing the week before break is supposed to start. Nothing too major, just enough to coat the ground and trees in a thin layer of white. It’s also the first day you see Allen wearing his new boots, and a long white coat. 

When he sees you he calls out your name and throws his hands upward, a breathtakingly huge smile on his face.

“Shouldn’t you be studying for finals?” 

“I haven’t lived in a place where it snowed since I was little.” Complete delight, with a twist of something saddness? longing? you can’t place it. It’s gone in an instant, brushed away with a twirl of his body. 

“The cold doesn’t bother you, I take it?” Says the boy who loves to stand in the rain. 

“No, I’m Elsa. White hair, duh.” Allen laughs. “I used to tell that to people in high school when they asked me why my hair was white. One of my many creative lies.” 

“If you start singing, I’m leaving.”

“No, never.” He takes in a deep breath and shivers. “I want hot chocolate, candy canes, and snuggling into a blanket. But I’ll settle for just a candy cane. I really love candy canes.”

“I think I can make that happen.” You would be more than happy to make all of that happen.

“What do you want for Christmas, Lavi?” 

The question is abrupt and unexpected. Frankly, you don’t know how to answer. What do you want for Christmas. 

“World peace?” 

Allen rolls his eyes. “It would be nice. But something a little more practical?” 

“To be happy?”

Allen sighs. “Something I could give you?”

 _You make me happy._ “If it’s from you, I’m sure I’ll love it.” 

“You’re not helpful.” But he smiles anyway. 

\----

You end your last day of finals with a party in the coffee shop with a bunch of your friends you probably don’t spend enough time around to really call them friends (you should really work on that) and a pile of interestingly wrapped bundles and bags on the table. Much to Lenalee’s delight, everyone seemed excited about buying random twenty dollar gifts and the risk of getting who knows what from someone else. You know you are. 

Your gift, a huge blue scarf and a pack of motivational cat stickers, is wrapped _Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal_ paper. You were honestly more excited about buying the paper than anything else. Allen came in and slipped a small, flat wrapped square, with a huge silver bow on top. And you’re pretty sure what ever Daisya brought was in the Christmas Pink Flamingos wrapping paper. Other than those, the owners of each gift are a complete mystery. 

Hot chocolate, cookies, and other treats are passed around from person to person with the excited buzz of the season. 

“We’re going back to Romania for the holidays.”

“I didn’t get to go last year, so I’m excited to see his castle.” 

“What about you, Miranda?”

“I don’t know yet… but I don’t think I’ll go home…” 

“You can stay with me for a while!”

“I also don’t have plans, we could do something together if you’re staying in the area.”

“Allen, what are you doing?”

“I am going to spend quality time with my dog.” 

“Your dog’s the most important part of the holiday?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

“Lavi?”

“No major plans yet, but I do plan on watching all those super cheesy Christmas movies.” 

The conversations mingle together, break apart, then connect again, until the energy levels have decreased just the slightest. Then the ‘real fun begins’. 

“So, what are the rules, exactly?” 

“Basically, we pick numbers to see who goes first then the first person picks a gift and unwraps it. The second person can then pick a gift from the pile, or steal someone’s opened gift. A gift can only be stolen twice before it’s kept permanently, and we go through everyone, until the first person gets to go again. What ever you’re left with is your gift.” 

“Simple enough, who goes first?” Daisya would be the first to worry about that. 

“Hmmm… we can do birthdays. Whoever has the next birthday goes first, and then we just go in order.” Elidade suggests, linking arms with Krory, who adds: 

“I guess I’m last then, my birthday just passed.” 

“Yeah, but you had the best surprise party broke college kids could pull together!” 

“Okay, who’s up next?” 

Allen sighs from next to you.

“That’s right! Allen, your birthday is in December! We didn’t miss it, did we?” Lenalee’s comment has the whole room turn toward him.

“No, you didn’t. My birthday’s the twenty-fifth.” 

“Dude, your birthday’s Christmas? Why didn’t you say anything, that’s hella cool!”

“Now I feel bad that I didn’t get you anything for your birthday too!”

“Lenalee, it’s okay.” 

“I can understand.” Miranda says, glancing at Allen. “January first.” 

Allen smiles at her, and you suddenly understand. Their birthdays are masked by holidays. Unless someone is there to avidly remember them, they’re probably forgotten. You also think you understand Allen’s feelings about the holiday a little bit more. His small moments of sadness make more sense. 

“Okay, Allen then Miranda… then…” 

“Me! April fifth.” 

“Okay, Allen, Miranda, Daisya, then Me? I’m in May. And Kanda’s next with June.”

“Noise is July.” Miranda comments. 

“August, so Lavi.” 

“Then Eliade and myself.” Krory finishes. 

“Okay, Lavi, do you have that?”

“Oh, sure just use my memory ‘cause I’m here.” Lenalee gives you a look. “Yeah, I have it. Allen, Miranda, Daisya, Lena, Kanda, Noise, yours truly, Elidade, and Krory.” 

Allen picks a box wrapped in poinsettia paper, unwrapping it to find a set of scented candles. Miranda ends up with a couple pairs of thigh high socks and a completely flustered expression. Daisya picks Allen’s gift, which has three CDs inside. You really should have expected that. 

“ _I Am Santa Claus, Twisted Christmas,_ and _Chipmunks Roasting On An Open Fire_?” He laughs flipping them over. “Are these just parody Christmas songs? Okay, I will fight anyone who steals these from me.” 

Lenalee steals the socks, probably more for Miranda’s sake since you’re pretty sure she put them in there. Kanda gets a travel neck pillow and an inflatable unicorn horn, and anyone who laughs gets a death stare, which is almost everyone. Noise picks ninja gingerbread men cookie cutters. You pick the pink flamingo wrapping paper and open the mother load of candy canes. 

“There are so many…” 

“I wouldn’t complain.” Allen’s staring at them in amazement.

Elidade steals Allen’s candles, Krory takes a set of inflatable beach balls. Allen steals your candy canes with a smirk. Miranda takes your scarf and sticker combo, and you think she likes it a lot more than knee high socks. You pick the last gift, a galactic cat sweatshirt and a welcome mat that says _Get Groovy or Get Lost, Man._

“Well, that settles it, Merry Christmas everyone!” 

A course of ‘Merry Christmas’ rings out, followed by people trying to find who’s gift they chose. 

Allen already has a candy cane in his mouth by the time you walk over to him.

“I was going to give them to you anyway.” 

“Well, now we’re both happy. What are you going to do with that rug?”

“Keep it, of course. It’s _groovy_.” 

“Dork.” If you didn’t know better, you would say that sounded less like an insult and more like _I like you a lot._

“But, topic change, Allen! How dare you not tell me it’s your birthday so soon!” 

“Didn’t really think it was important.” 

“It’s you, Allen. Of course it’s important.” He blushes. 

“I, um, got you something. Made it, really.” Allen pulls a thin square package from his coat and places it in your hands. 

You try to ignore how fast your heart is beating as you unwrap it. You’re greeted with a CD. There is a sticker of a cassette tape on top of it, and Allen’s handwriting scrawled on the label.

_“We’re Not Broken.”_

“It’s nothing much, really. Just thought you needed some new tunes, since you don’t know many. Definitely didn’t pick out these songs for any reason or anything.”

“Of course not, no.” He did. He so did. 

“Well, I got you something too, but it might as well be a birthday gift at this point.” 

“It’s not what I think it is, is it?”

“Well.” You grab the bag you’d stashed under the table when you first arrived. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, it is.” 

“You didn’t.” His hands are on his mouth. _“You did.”_

You pull his hands away from his mouth and place the bag into them instead. He pauses for another moment, and you nod quickly, urging him on. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the jacket. 

“Happy early birthday, Allen. And Merry early Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Lavi and thank you.”

“Of course. Though I still feel bad about your birthday.”

“Well it hasn’t happened yet, so don’t feel bad.”

“Maybe I should get you the crop top outfit.” You smirk and Allen rolls his eyes. 

“You don’t need to get me anything, really.”

“But I want to.” 

“Just call me and wish me a happy birthday on the twenty-fifth. That would be enough.” 

\---

12:00 AM. December 25th. 

“Lavi?”

“Happy Birthday, Allen.” 

“Thank you, Lavi. I appreciate this.” 

“Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was awake. Listening to all the different versions of Carol of the Bells.”

“A good way to spend your time.”

“Did you keep yourself up to wish my happy birthday?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“Ah.”

“How’s the break going?”

“Quite nice. I made cookies a few days ago and snuggled with Timcanpy a lot. How’s it going with the movies?”

“I’m finding myself spiritually in every old black and white.” 

Silence.

“I miss you. You’re warm to be around.”

“I miss you too, Allen.”

“I thought I would never say it, but I’m excited to go back to school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, that was fast.  
> As always, thank you for all the comments and kudos, they mean the world too me, and thank you for reading.  
> I promise the story's actually going somewhere soon. It's not just obvious flirting between two dorks who refuse to ask each other out for reasons unknown. 
> 
> AND I made the playlist Allen gave Lavi! If you want to listen, you can find it here: http://8tracks.com/zodiac-attack/we-re-not-broken


	20. Chapter 20

It’s lightly snowing the day you come back to school in January. You get the absolute pleasure of seeing Kanda walking though the snow with small white flakes in his hair and you tell him he’s very photogenic right now. He should take a picture. 

He tells you one of you is a professional photographer, and it sure as hell isn’t you, so you should keep your comments to yourself. You remind him he's still a photography student, which earns you a glare.

Lenalee agrees with you, but of course she doesn’t get a lecture, because she’s the favorite. Kanda doesn’t even deny it when you point it out. 

“So, how was the break?”

“I had to go see _The Nutcracker_ again. I mean, I love supporting local theatre and dance programs, but seeing it every year does get a bit old. Even if it’s tradition.” She turns to Kanda. “Do you remember that year I played Clara?” 

“That was the only year I went.” 

“Well now that’s just adorable.” You cover your huge grin with your hands.

“Shut up, Rabbit.” 

“These nicknames are adorable, too.” You run for your life.

\----

A snow storm hits the day before classes are supposed to start. Meaning, classes don’t start. They get canceled, and it becomes very hard to leave the dorms, but a few brave souls make the trek to the dining hall and back, though you’re pretty sure they left a part of themselves frozen outside and they won’t find it again until spring. A few smart souls have food stashed in their dorm for this very purpose, well really for snacks and _just incase we’re ever cut off from food or a zombie apocalypse does happen, I’m going to be ready._ You happen to be very good friends with one of these smart souls. 

“Do you not have possessions because you spend all your money on food and iTunes gift cards?”

“Sounds like something I’d do.” 

“Yes, but _is_ it what you do?”

“Maybe.” A sly smile. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know, _what’s good_?”

“Did you just--”

“Yes. Allen, _what’s good_.”

“I can’t even with you some times.” But he’s laughing anyway. “Well, it’s not like I have a full course meal in here, just like snack things. Protein Bars. Cup of Noodles. Pop Tarts. You know, college student life-lines.” 

“I could go for some rehydrated salty noodles.” 

“You have a way with words.” 

You’re sitting cross legged on the extra bed while Allen grumbles about how _yes I know the microwave is ‘eco friendly’ but it sucks, it takes forever to heat anything up, if it says three minutes, you need to go with five at least._ Eventually he gets the machine to work with him (with a heavy sigh and a strained smile tossed your way). You decide to break the silence. 

“I liked the CD.” 

“Oh?” Allen sits down across from you. It’s hard to say, but he looks… sheepish. 

“Yeah, I liked the symbolism. _Born this Way, The Kids Aren’t Alright,_ very cute. But I liked the songs I’ve heard before the best.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like that one we danced to on halloween. Hearing it took me straight back.” You didn’t understand why it was there at first, but then it came back, white gloves in your hands, a white dress flowing back and forth in front of you. Your embarrassment at the close proximity and silent _thank god_ Allen was the one leading. 

“Well, I picked songs I associated with you. For a number of reasons. Times we were together. The car trip. The lyrics.” 

“I liked the ones that reminded me of you.” 

The microwave beeps, giving Allen’s blinking expression an excuse to snap out of it. 

“Are we going to keep skirting around this?” The whisper barely leaves your mouth. Allen doesn’t hear you. Or he pretends he doesn’t. The thought of the latter sends a knife through your heart. 

Someone runs past in the hall, shouting something, banging on the walls, someone else shrieks bloody murder. Allen flinches, hand jerking up just enough to splash hot water on his shirt and gloves.

“Ow! Shit! Ah!” His body lurches forward in an attempt to keep the fabric from clinging to his skin. 

“Allen, are you okay?” You’re up in an instant, taking a few steps toward him. 

“Fine, I’m fine. Just spilled some water.” The words are forced out between clamped teeth. “This is why my headphones are always in, so I don’t have to hear _that_.” 

“You should--” You stop a of steps behind him, your suggestion caught in your throat. There is a reason Allen wears long sleeves. There is a reason you’ve never seen his shirt off. 

“Yeah?”

“Well, you should… take it off. So it doesn’t burn you worse. And it’s wet. So, yeah.” His shoulders flinch slightly. “I can leave, if you want.” 

“It’s okay.” He spits out the words, takes a breath, then tries again. “It’s okay. Stay.” 

“You don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. 

Allen takes a breath, pulling off the gloves first and tossing them onto the small table space. His fingers then curl at the bottom hem of his shirt, folding the material up and over his body. You can’t help but trail your eyes up from his hips, following the shirt as it exposes his skin. 

The lower expanse of his back is pale. Pale and smooth. The sleeves roll off his shoulders and down his arms. Red flares around his arm, red and sore and tough. His skin looks torn and obviously burnt, stretching all the way down to the tips of his fingers. 

Allen turns around slowly, his chest coming into your view, and the scar that tears through his skin. Thick and jagged. It shocks you, and you have to put a conscious effort into not covering your mouth or even opening it at all for that matter. He told you he had a scar, but you never expected it to look like this. This was huge. _How did he survive getting cut this badly?_

“Is that good staring or bad staring?” His voice is meek, shallow and afraid. 

“Impressed staring? I’m really amazed you’re alive with a scar like that.” Okay, probably not the best thing you could have said, especially considering the circumstances of how he got said scar. 

“Heh. It _is_ impressive when you look at it like that. But it’s not very pretty.”

“Scars often aren’t. What’s pretty is what you make of them.” You’ll thank your grandfather for stealing his quote later. “Also, don’t you think it’s inside that counts, Mr. ‘I’ll fight the body theory’?” 

A half chuckle. “Yeah, but having a nice external shell wouldn’t hurt either.” 

“I understand.” You understand very well. “You’re not burned are you?” 

He holds up his left hand, slowly wiggling his fingers. “You know, I’m not sure if I would be able to feel if I was burned or not. I mean, what’s a little first degree water burn when you look like this?” 

“Can… Can I…” You glance at his arm, reaching out your hand a little. He understands what you’re asking, you see him pull back a little before closing his eyes, sighing. 

“Sure.” 

“Really?” 

“Why not?” One eye opens to glance at you. “It’s just skin, right? Only can we make this less awkward than us standing by the microwave while you touch my arm?” 

You give snort at the comment and Allen moves to the bed, sitting on the edge. You follow and sit next to him, hands resting in your lap, unsure of what to do. He sighs, rolling his eyes, in that _you just asked for this and now you’re being a chicken_ sort of way. It spurs you to reach out, your fingers gently laying over the rough skin on the back of his hand. You can feel how he tries not to flinch at the contact.

You trail them around in a circle, sliding them up the red stains on his arm, flexing outward, gently rubbing at the tough skin you find beneath your touch. Your skin looks so pale in comparison to the red backdrop. It’s mesmerizing. 

“I don’t know why I’m letting you do this.” It comes out with a shudder, and almost like a sigh. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” You think he leans in to your touch, just barely. “Having human contact is… nice.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “If that’s how you want to view this, okay.”

“Hmm…” 

You fingers move back down, tracing over the rough lines on his arms. You don’t want to picture what happened in the crash to leave his skin like this. You draw a circle on the back of his hand again, lifting it up to trace the lines of his palm you can barely see. You start at his wrist and spread your fingers out along his, slowly, feeling every groove, eventually wrapping your fingers around to rest on the back of his hand. Allen pauses for a second, then follows your lead, bending his fingers down to mirror yours.

“You know, if you wanted to hold my hand you could have just asked.” 

“Yeah, but I’m more creative than that.” You smile, he rolls his eyes. 

“You’re the first person I’ve shown this to. Willingly.” 

“Hell of a secret to keep locked away for years.” 

“Hmm… you would know what that’s like, huh?”

“Yeah, I do…” Your fingers rub on the bottom of your shirt. “Ah, screw it, fair is fair right?”

“What?” Allen only gets half the word out by the time you’re pulling your shirt off.

“You showed me your scars, I’ll show you mine.” 

Your scars are nothing compared to Allen’s. But if he trusted you to show them to you, you can show him the thin white lines on your chest. 

“You don’t--”

“Too late.” Your shirt is up and over your head in seconds. “We’re bonding through mutual discomfort, Allen. It’s how they do it in the rom coms.” 

“I don’t think rom coms are a good standard for daily life.” Some how your hands end up together again. 

“But what if I want to live my life being quirky and spontaneous and give up my life dreams to be with the random guy I just met a week ago.” 

“I’d rather go with one of those indie movies where the kids do stupid cute stuff, like swimming under a full moon or camping in the back of a pick up truck.”

“You just want to go dancing in the woods at night. That’s how _The Crucible_ started, you know.”

“Maybe I’m into witchcraft.” A quick smile, his eyes shift to your chest. “Those scars I would barely call scars, there is almost nothing there.” 

“Well, nothing compared to _you_. But yeah, they did nice job, didn’t they? Barely any sign of breasts or the lack there of.” 

“No sign, if you want my opinion. I could have never guessed, provided I was an asshole who did things like that.” 

“Thanks. But I’m still terrified of someone getting to close and feeling them and then asking me what happened to my chest.”

“Tell them it was a cat. Or a bear. Or a knife fight and they should see the other guy. Or you could always throw glitter in their face and then run away.” 

Another laughing snort, because you’re classy like that. “You have the best ideas, Allen.”

“I know, I’m pretty great.” 

“And modest too. What a charmer.” 

“You know me. I’m nothing but charm. But really, Lavi, those are so small can you actually feel them?” 

“See for yourself.” The words are out of your mouth before they’re even in your brain and something clicks in your head that one of your deepest fears no longer is a problem around Allen. You’ve known for a while but it just keeps resurfacing when you speak without thinking. Allen makes you feel safe. And you think you make Allen feel safe too. 

“You sure? Don’t just say yes because I let you touch my arm, because this is something else.”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t okay.” You hope your smile comes off as sincere.

The hand not in yours reaches forward, pulls back at the wrist suddenly, fingers wiggling slightly. He looks up and you nod, taking a breath and tilting your head back. 

Cold. You try your best not to flinch as his fingers trace over the small white lines you know so well, gentle and light, it’s almost ticklish. 

“They’re barely raised, I don’t think you need to worry about someone feeling them. I’d think it was just a fold in your shirt or something.” 

“Well that’s reassuring. Still don’t think I’ll go outside without a shirt.”

“Understandable. Though, if you ever wanted to and someone gave you problems, I’d hit them for you.” His palm pauses over the middle of your chest, then pulls back. 

You bite your tongue to keep from asking him to put his hand back. “I appreciate it.” 

“Your turn to feel me up.” 

“What?” It comes out more as cough than actual words.

“My chest. Touch it.” You don’t move, your eyes flicking between the scar on his chest and the expression on his face. “Come on, I know you’re curious. It’s not every day you get the chance to touch a scar from being ripped though a car and a fence.” 

You blink. He sighs, picking up your hand and placing it in the middle of the scar. Right. Over. His. Heart. 

The sound that escapes your lips is half whine and half noise of pain and entirely not human. Allen just laughs, the soft reverberations dancing up your arm. You can feel his heartbeat. If you open your mouth words are not going to come out. You’re not sure what will, but it will be bad and a mess, so instead you take a quick breath and move your hand up along the edge of the scar. 

Your fingers trace the outline, all the way up to his shoulder, ending at the point, tracing down the edge to just above his hip, and back up again. You follow the trail again, zig-zagging across the middle as you trail your fingers up and down. Allen's hand tightens in yours. 

“Should I stop?”

“Only if you want to.” 

“You know, if this was a romance movie, we’d be kissing by now.” You must have said this in your head a hundred times. You must have said this to Lenalee a hundred times. But this might just be the first time you’re saying it to Allen. 

“If this was a romance movie, we would have kissed several times by now.” 

Your heart flutters.

“Why haven’t we?”

“I don’t know.” Allen looks away. “That’s a lie. I’m lying. I know why.” 

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Could you wait if I asked you to?” 

“I could.” 

Allen sighs, leaning forward, placing his head on your shoulder. 

“You’re far to nice to me, Lavi. You never ask questions, you trust me, you’ll wait for me…” A pause. “This is what love is like, isn’t it?” 

“I… I… I wouldn’t know.” You’re brain is stuttering, short circuiting, because he’s probably right and it’s kind of terrifying and kind of amazing. “I’ve only ever liked one person. I haven’t even kissed anyone.” 

“Kissing doesn’t have to be love. I’ve kissed lots of people, but I never liked any of them.” Allen laughs a little. “It’s sad really, funny almost. People used to pay me to kiss them at high school parties, or pay me to kiss their friends. I was bet three hundred dollars I could kiss this boy in our class and he would still be straight. He lost.” 

“How on earth did you mange to create such a monopoly?” You’re… impressed? Maybe a little sad that so many people have done what you wish you could do. But you would hate to pay him for a kiss. There is no emotion, no meaning behind that. Well, at least not the emotions you would want. 

“You play spin the bottle a few times and people learn you can tie a cherry steam into a knot with your tongue. Rumors spread and next thing you know people are lining up to have a taste. But I don’t give away goods for free, that’s just bad business.” 

“I can only imagine what they asked for.” Your stomach is in knots.

“You don’t want to know. Disgusting. I never did that kind of stuff. I’m not a prostitute, just a kissing booth. Though it was tempting how much they would offer to pay, but I really didn’t want to get gonasyphaids and die.” You laugh a little at his words choice, and Allen pulls back, meeting your eyes in an even stare. “You deserve better than me.”

“I can’t ask for something that doesn’t exist.” Oh. Oh that was smooth. Sometimes you really impress yourself. Damn, you’re good. 

“Cute.” A flash of a smile, his eyes shift to where your hands are still intertwined. “If I kissed you, it would be the first time I kissed someone I actually liked.” 

“Well, that’s good. I’m glad you like me. Because I’m pretty fond of you too.” 

“I know.” There’s Allen’s smile. The smile. The one that warms your heart. The one that gives you the same feeling in your chest you get from holding small fluffy bunnies, which before meeting Allen Walker, was probably the best feeling you’ve ever experienced in your life, like rivals the day you got top surgery best experience in your life. 

“I wanted to kiss you on Christmas, after you gave me the jacket. I also wanted to kiss you when we came back from our city trip. That was the first time I really wanted to kiss someone.” His smile fades a little, a look of longing in his eyes. He bites at his bottom lip. “I really want to kiss you right now too.” 

“You can, if you want to.” You think you lean in a little.

“I want to.” You think he leans in a little too.

Allen’s lips are warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, I'm a monster :3 *wink and finger guns*
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, and nice tags on tumblr reblogs. I hope you like this chapter, and I hope I get the second part up soon but midterms are a thing that exist.


	21. Chapter 21

Allen’s lips are warm. They’re slow and gentle and cautious and feel amazing. It’s quick, it’s light, then he pulls back and your mind is in a daze. 

“There, a proper first kiss.” There is a light dust of pink on his ears, probably nothing compared to you, considering how warm your face feels. “But that’s not the kind of kiss they paid me for.”

His statement pierces through your foggy mind. “I don’t want the kiss people paid you for.”

“I would _never_ give you the kind of kiss people paid for.” Allen smirks, warmth twisting in with something mischievous. His next words come out as a breath on your mouth. It sends a shiver through your body. “I would give you so much more.” 

The next time your lips touch it’s almost overwhelming. Allen is everywhere, everything, his hand tightens in yours, the other coils around your arm, sliding up to your shoulder, his tongue is at your lips, in your mouth, coaxing you to respond, and you try but it’s hard when the only thing you can think is _Allen._

You understand why people would pay for his kisses now. You don’t understand how you’re supposed to be able to breathe. Psychically or emotionally, be able to breathe. Is the kiss itself making you light headed? Or the fact you’re definitely loosing oxygen? All your blood is rushing to your face, but none of it to your brain, probably. 

Allen must know this, because he takes pity on you, pulling away slightly, resting his forehead on yours. 

“You’re… not good at this.” An amused look on his face as you pant slightly, your thoughts fumbling around your head.

“Well I don’t have any experience, Allen. I mean, we could have been practicing for a while now.” You hope your tone comes off humorous. 

“But I wanted to wait…” He finishes your statement with a laugh. “Pointless now. Well, pointless then too. We were basically dating already, weren’t we?” 

“I’m sure Lenalee would love to hear us admit it.” You almost want to send her a picture of you and Allen, just to see her response. 

Allen hums in agreement, shaking his head a little. “That she would.” 

“Was she harassing you too?”

“I wouldn’t call it harassing. More like…” He pauses for a second, eyes glancing up a little. _“Aggressive motivating.”_

You laugh, pressing your forehead onto Allen’s a little more. “I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but at the same time, I know exactly what you’re talking about.” 

“She mainly just asked me if I noticed how much you liked me. And when I said yes, she asked me why I wasn’t doing anything about it.” A quick smirk. “People. Always trying to rush things.”

His earlier comment resurfaces in your head. “Allen, can I ask you why you wanted to wait?”

“On one hand it would have been illegal, or at least socially frowned upon.” He laughs, shaking his head little. “I can’t believe you’re three years older than me.” 

“Well, that’s… technically a fair point. But not the only point I hope?” Something about Allen makes you think societal guidelines alone wouldn’t stop him if he really wanted something. He seems to have his own standards and beliefs for life. 

A sigh. Another press of his lips to yours. Quick, light, sensual. You can feel an array of emotions, and hate that sadness is the one that surfaces the most.

“You don’t have to answer.” 

He taps his forehead on yours again. “You’re too nice to me.” 

“I know. But I mean it.”

Allen takes a breath, tilting his head back, looking at the ceiling. Something sad crawls onto his face, no, not sad, worried? Maybe? Hurt? 

“Have you ever known someone who would go to extremes to get what they wanted?” An image of your mother flickers into your head and you shudder, nodding. “Have you ever been afraid they were going to do something, but you didn’t know what or where or when?” 

How many times did you lay awake at night, woken from nightmares where she came to collect you from your grandfather, take you back, force you to be the person you aren’t? How many times did you instinctively flinch back when you saw someone with her hair color and style, when you heard someone call _that_ name or even her name? Your first year with your grandfather was mostly comprised of long nights where he spoke softly to calm you down and tried to undo fourteen years of fear and trauma.

“Yes.” 

“I knew someone in high-school who would do _anything_ to be around me. And she had no signs of letting up when I graduated. I moved almost all the way across the country and ran into one of her cousins, so she might know where I am.” Allen took a breath and rolled his eyes, at himself more than anything. “I know it’s kind of silly to think this way, but if she was going to do something, I didn’t want you to be in the splash zone.” 

“So you wanted to wait because someone _might_ do something?” 

“More or less.” A light smirk. “Stupid, I know.” 

“No, I’m just thinking you would spend a lot of time waiting. I understand your thought process really well, but you can’t live your whole life in a standstill because you’re afraid of something bad happening.” Allen’s fingers tighten around the back of your hand and you give him a reassuring smile. You tell him the lesson your grandfather drilled into your head. “Take it from someone who didn’t go to high school and waited an extra two years to go to college because he was scared.” 

“It’s certainly hard to argue to with that.” His head slides down, and you think he places a kiss by your ear, then another on your neck, ending with his head resting on your shoulder. “Lavi, I really like you.” 

Blood floods your face again and your heart melts into a puddle. 

“It scares me. I haven’t felt like this before.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck and you loose the ability to speak, let alone think. It takes you far too long to process what Allen said, and even longer to understand what he meant. You have to force your mind to think of words, and to put those words into an order that makes sense. 

“I think I know what you mean.” You’re speaking slowly, and Allen can probably hear how fast your heart is beating. “Though I moved past that a while back.”

“How?” His breath tickles. 

“Well, I figured you aren’t going to hurt me. You’re not… someone who would do that.” 

“How are you so sure? Accidents happen.” His voice is a whisper. If he had not been so close to your ears, you wouldn’t have heard it.

You glance down at him, though the only thing in your vision is his hair. You roll your shoulder up a little and place a hand on his cheek when he lifts his head. “Allen, I trust you.”

His expression is blank. Something shines in his eyes. A soft smile, breaking into a grin. 

“Maybe all you need is someone to trust.” His words have a rhythm, you know it’s a song. “I won’t let you down, no I won’t let you down.”

He kisses you again, or maybe you kiss him, either way you’re kissing each other and it’s still slow and careful, and something tells you Allen is trying to teach you. So you try your best to learn. What ever you do, you can feel him smiling into the kiss. It makes your heart flutter. 

When he pulls away he’s smiling. “I trust you too. I really do.” 

He shivers, just a little, a quick ripple of his shoulders and chest. 

“Are you cold?”

“Yes.” His eyes tell you no, but saying yes was easier than telling you what was on his mind. You don’t feel like outing him, but you squeeze his hand to tell him you know. 

“Well, it is January and we are sitting around shirtless, it’s to be expected.” 

His smile thanks you for playing along with his lie. “Why do we speak in code if we both already know?” 

“Somethings are better left unsaid?” 

“Cliché, but true.” 

Silence. Allen squeezes your fingers again. You give him a soft smile, tilting your head a little. 

“What’s your stance on cuddling?” It’s the first thing on your mind, and therefore the first thing out of your mouth. It also probably deepens your blush, if that is even humanly possible. You really hope if anything about Allen fades away, it’s the fact your face flushes whenever you think about him romantically. Ro-man-tic-ally. It sounds strange in your head, foreign, a great expanse of the unknown. It’s intriguing and frightening and puts butterflies in your stomach. 

“I’ve only cuddled with my dog, but I’m not opposed to exploring the subject further.”

“Well, that’s one up from cuddling with pillows, so you win.” He laughs. You summon your courage and try not to trip over your tongue, a feat that would have been near impossible a few months ago. “Would you like to try it with me?” 

You think you see a light tint of pink on his cheeks before he places his forehead on your shoulder again. “I think I can handle that.” 

“ _You_ think you can handle that?” You laugh, your shoulder bouncing and Allen giving you a look. “Which one of us has been a blushing mess for the past term? Have you even looked at my face since you kissed me?” 

“Well you’re very external with your emotions, I could have been blushing on the inside.” Allen pulls back, his cheeks mostly colorless, maybe a tint of red on his ears. Maybe.

“You were avidly flirting with me during our thanksgiving outing! You weren’t subtle and you aren’t sorry about it at all!” 

“Was I now? I don’t recall…” He smirks, the very definition of a _shit eating grin_ and you’re beginning to like that mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“You little liar!” You push him backward, then follow his motion, twisting a little, and land beside him on the bed. 

“Oh, that was smooth.” Allen breathes the words onto your face. “Proud of yourself?”

“Yeah, actually, it worked out a lot better than I thought it would.” 

You’re both laughing. Allen closes his eyes a little when he laughs, his body shaking slightly, his free hand coming up to place a few fingers over his mouth. When he stops laughing, he smiles and blinks slowly, his hand moving to run across your lips, then through your hair instead, pushing back your loose bangs.

“You have the prettiest eyes, Lavi. They’re just so _green_.”

You let out a half laugh. “I get that a lot.” 

“You’re very attractive.” His eyes are asking _do you get that a lot too?_

“Thanks?” That’s probably not what you’re supposed to say when someone tells you you’re attractive, but you have very little experience in this field and hope Allen will forgive you.

“And that means a lot coming from someone who doesn’t find most people physically pleasing to the eyes.” 

“Allen Walker, are you attracted to me?” You smile, a light tone to your voice. 

“I think I _could_ be.” His voice starts serious, but he makes a confused face, wrinkling his nose, and scrunching his eye brows. “At least aesthetically. Emotions are confusing. Maybe? Not right now, if I’m being honest. I mean, I like you, but--” 

You chuckle, cutting him off. “That’s okay. I like you regardless, you don’t need to justify yourself. And I think you’re beautiful.” 

You’re impressed you got that out without tripping over your mouth. 

“Really? Even after seeing all this?” You’re not sure if his voice is more jokingly flat denial or actual curiosity. Almost like he wants to believe you. You can understand why he wouldn’t. But he’s wrong in that case. 

“Yes. You’re very beautiful. I told you I had a type, right?” 

Allen blinks, you can practically see the cogs turning in his head. His eyebrows furrow slightly, his mouth dropping open. “Oh, you are _sly_.” 

You laugh. Or at least start to. Allen silences you with another kiss. It’s deeper this time, more heated, more possessive. You don’t do much, but _Allen, oh,_ Allen does a lot. Not that you didn’t believe him, but you’re _very_ sure he _can_ tie cherry stems in knots. You never realized what an incredible feat that really is, and what someone with that skill can do with their tongue. You’re speechless, almost, you think you moan a little and Allen’s lips turn into a smile. 

When he pulls away your hands fly to your face, covering your mouth. Your eyes are wide. Allen runs his hands through your hair, leaving them locked on the back of your neck. You had no idea how good that could feel. 

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” He kisses the back of your hands.

_“Allen.”_ You try to scold him, but your voice comes out more in a tone of amazement than one of reprimand. _“Kinky.”_

“I know. I’m unintentionally a flirt. I got so much shit for it in high school. Flirting and ‘not following though’.” He rolls his eyes, letting out a soft huff of air. “To be honest, I didn’t even know I was flirting half the time. I was just being nice. Plus, does it _really_ count as flirting if they pay you?” 

You rock your head side to side, as if you’re contemplating his question. He taps his forehead against yours in annoyance and you give a quick chuckle, steading your breath before you answer.

“Well I certainly won’t hold it against you. You can kiss me like that all you want and I’ll ask for nothing more than what you’re willing to give.” 

“This is what a healthy relationship is supposed to be like, huh?” His eyes flash away for a moment and his voice sounds sad. 

You hate the implications of that statement. It makes your skin crawl. “I’ll listen if you want me to.”

He bounces back with an exhale and a smile. “No, it’s okay. Dwelling on the past never did anyone good. After all, one of the steps to happiness is living in the present.”

“Well, what do you want to do in the present?” Either you are slowly loosing control of the filter in your head that normally keeps you from saying embarrassing things or you’re gaining some confidence around Allen. You really hope it’s the latter. 

“If I’m being honest, I want to get food. But I’m extremely unwilling to get up right now.” He leans in closer, his body only a few inches away from yours. His hands run up through your undercut and back down, again locking behind your neck. _You really like the feeling of his hands in your hair._ “You should feel special. Not many things will make me put off getting food.” 

“I am completely honored.” You really don’t know what to do with your hands. Something in the back of your head keeps telling you to place a hand on Allen’s hip. Considering you’ve touched most of his upper body by now, you really shouldn’t have a problem with this, but your hand is still shaking a little as you lay it on his waist. His skin is warm compared to your hands, but still a little on the colder side. “I have a proposition.” 

“Oh?”

“When the snow lets up, we go get food. Like, nice food, at a nice place.” It must be confidence because that was too thought out and planned to be a filter slip.

“Lavi, are you asking me on a date?”

And yet, maybe not, because it sounds so much more blunt and impacting when Allen throws the hidden meaning of your words back at you. Your face is completely flushed. Again. You can feel it, especially in your ears. You’ve probably spent more time blushing in the last several minutes than you have your whole life. “Ummm… yes? I guess so.”

He smiles, looking down. If you had to name his expression, you would say content, bordering on delighted. “I’d like that, if you were.” He flicks his eyes back up. There is a determined glimmer in them and you can’t decide if it makes you nervous or excited.

“Lavi Bookman.” That’s your name. You’ve heard it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. But you have never heard it quite like Allen says it. Your name has never sounded so good, or sent shivers down your spine.

“Allen Walker.” You don’t come off nearly as impressive, but Allen’s smile increases a little and he bats his eyes in response.

“Officially, I would like to be your boyfriend. Would you like to be mine?” 

“Yes.” You spit out the answer before you even process exactly what he said. He starts to laugh. “I’m sorry, was that too eager?” 

“A little. Sounded like you’ve been wanting this for a while.”

“Well, I knew I liked you for a while, I don’t think I ever really sorted out what I wanted. But like I said, I’ll ask for nothing more than you’re willing to give.” 

“I don’t think you’re being honest with me. Everyone wants something. And this can’t be a all give no take relationship, because that’s bullshit.” Allen leans forward, breathing his next statement on to your lips. “What do _you_ want, Lavi?” 

“I want to date you.” You take a breath. That’s not what Allen’s asking, you know that, but you can’t think of how to answer him. You settle on a half answer. “And I want you to kiss me again.” 

“Well, I can easily do both of those things. But first--” 

“I just really want to be with you.” You cut Allen off, hoping this answer will satisfy his question, because you can’t think of anything you want more than just being with him. You could be content with just that. 

A soft expression falls on his face, his lips parting slightly, then closing again. There is a glossy look in his eyes and he blinks, a smile quickly forming. The blush you had a glimpse at earlier deeps, staining his cheeks a light pink. It’s actually a pretty nice look for him. Complements his hair and eyes well. 

“Saying things like that will make me cry, you know.” You must make a face because he presses his lips to yours again, only for a second. “Out of happiness, Lavi.” 

“Good, I would never want to be the reason you cry.” Unless it’s tears of joy, of course. Still even then, you don’t think you would want to see Allen cry. 

He makes a breathy sound and then moves slowly, hands parting and dragging up to rest on your shoulders. He pushes you back, softly, gently, and leans over you, one hand moving to your hair again, the other falling down your arm to meet your hand. His fingers close at the same moment his lips meet yours. He’s tender this time, calm and caring, teeth lightly scraping at your lips. When you open your mouth it’s still slow, and you run a hand up his side, over his chest, resting it on his face, rubbing your thumb over the scar on his cheek. He leans into your touch with a hum, twisting his fingers into your hair and eliciting the same response. 

“You’re getting better.” He whispers the words when he pulls away, hovering slightly above you with a dazzle in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“Well, I am a fast learner.” 

“Thank god for that.” 

“Wow, Allen, rude.” But you’re laughing and he’s laughing and you could ask for nothing more than this. Kissing Allen Walker one moment and teasing and laughing with him the next. This is what it must be like to fall for your best friend. 

You’ve fallen for your best friend. You’ve fallen hard. You really don’t think that’s a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the kudos and comments and it's been over a year since I first posted this, my oh my how time flies! Thank you all for sticking with the story for all this time, and I'm really happy you're all enjoying it. 
> 
> No idea when the next update will be, but we can pray it will happen before the new year.


	22. Chapter 22

Lenalee is delighted when she sees the two of you, hands interlocked, whispering words of encouragement to each other, trying to work out exactly how to tell her you’re now boyfriends. Boyfriends. The word still makes you feel giddy inside. 

“That better mean what I think it means.” She slides up with a smile, pointing at your hands.

You let out a nervous chuckle, Allen places a kiss on your cheek. “Does than answer your question?”

Lenalee _squeals_ , a huge smile breaking out on her face as she throws her arms around both of you, saying _I’m so happy for you two, oh my god, and it’s about time too! I was thinking I was going to get old waiting for one of you to finally make a move, who did make the move I want to know! But, it’s not very nice to pry into people’s personal lives, right?_

“It was a teamwork effort,” Allen says when she finally lets go. “But I kissed him. Then he needed some lessons.” 

“Hey!” Lenalee did know you had zero romantic experience, but Allen really didn’t need to out you as a bad kisser.

“I’m not going to lie to Lenalee. You don’t lie to the mom friend, Lavi, you just don’t.” 

“It’s not lying, it’s withholding information, there is a difference. Mom friends don’t need to know _everything_. ” 

“I prefer to see myself as the cool older sister friend, and they do need to know everything.”

“Oh, you’re not just any mom friend, you’re a _cool_ mom friend.” Allen gives you soft smile. “And in Lavi’s defense, he’s a quick learner.”

“Oh?” Lenalee’s smirk could not possibly be bigger when she tilts her head a little to the side. “Just how quick?”

Allen leans in and whispers something that makes Lenalee giggle, glancing at you with a look you’re not sure if you like. But Allen pulls back and a sincere smile on his lips and a spark in his eyes. 

“Very quick. It’s impressive… and very welcomed.”

“Allen…” You whine, pulling your scarf up a little so you can burrow your face into it. Does orange hide the red on your face, or amplify it? You should ask Kanda about the color wheel and find the best scarf to mute your compulsive blushing. 

Allen leans up, studying your face for a second before humming. “You’re not blushing that bad, so I don’t think you mind that much.” 

“You need to stop.”

“No he doesn’t. I’m enjoying the show.” Lenalee comments and you groan, your point completely ignored. 

“Don’t you have class or something?”

“Still canceled. Or are you asking me if I have _class_?” Lenalee is a master of sweet smiles that somehow also drip with sass. 

“Either.”

She laughs, shaking her head slightly, hair swishing behind her. “Okay, Lavi, I can take a hint. We were going to hook up my laptop to the TV on the third floor; I was going ask if you wanted to join us for a Netflix spree.”

“Couldn’t pick something?”

“Kanda and I couldn’t decide, then a few other people wanted to join and started to voice their opinions but of course no one agrees. I am seriously about to just put on _Chopped_ and marathon that instead.” 

“Oooo… Food Network. Sounds like a fun time.” 

“It will be, if I get it set up. Stop by later.” Lenalee turns to leave, then stops, spinning back around to face you.“And don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone, but please let me be there when you tell some people.” 

Allen glances up at you once Lenalee starts toward the elevators. “Wanna go or should we go back to my room and make out some more?” 

It’s like Allen’s intentionally trying to make you a flustered mess. You certainly wouldn’t put it past him. “Are you going to be able to keep your mouth off me if we go?”

“It’s not my fault you’re very aesthetically pleasing and very kissable.” To prove it, he rocks up and places a kiss on your cheek. 

“Maybe I should just stand on my toes all the time so you can’t reach.” Or you could just lean back a little, pulling yourself just out of his range. You kind of like having a boyfriend shorter than you, it’s really fun.

… you kind of like having a boyfriend in general. It’s nice. 

“If you did that I’d have to pull you down by your scarf.” He bats at the end of the orange fabric lightly to emphasize his point. 

“Cheater.” 

“Your height is already an unfair advantage. Plus, I’d do anything to win.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.” Allen smirks. “Do yourself a favor and never play cards with me.” 

“Duly noted.” 

“So do you want to go watch people make food from generic non-name brand ingredients that you would never eat together if your life depended on it?” 

“Well when you put it like that, how could I refuse?” 

“You could kiss me to shut me up.” 

“You have the best ideas.” 

\----

You never know what to expect when you tell Kanda things. He’s a hard person to read most of the time, mostly due to his default expression being less neutral and more annoyed and angry about life itself. At least it kept people from bothering him. You can appreciate the advantages of that. 

“Hey Kanda guess what?” No answer, well you aren’t really expecting one. “So some stuff happened and I’m… I’m… kinda… dating Allen Walker.” 

“Kind of dating? One would think you would be more sure about it.” 

“I _am_ dating Allen Walker.” You repeat, with more emphasis and clarity and determination because damn it, you _are_ dating Allen Walker! “We’re a thing, I like him a lot, his tongue has definitely been inside my mouth.”

“Stop talking.” Kanda makes a grimace and waves a hand in front of his face. “I don’t need to know.”

“What, Kanda? You’re not interested in every aspect of my love life?” 

“Contain yourself if you want to live.” He turns away from you, returning to lazily scrolling on some webpage. 

“That’s all I get? Lenalee was practically jumping with joy.”

“It’s hard to be excited when it was so predictable.”

“Hmm…” Well, you can’t really disagree with him. Hearing you and Allen are dating is like hearing about today’s weather when you’re already standing outside in the rain. Everyone expected it. In fact, a few people probably thought you two already were dating. “You’re right. It would have been way more of a twist if I ended up dating Lenalee.”

“She’s too good for you.”

“Wow, Kanda, rude.” You flop down on your bed, folding your arms behind your head. “I wouldn’t date her anyway. She’s like a sister to me, and dating someone who’s like a sister to you is sketchy thin ice. Plus there is Allen, who is pretty wonderful and wow, I really like him a lot.”

“Please move in with him, just so I don’t have to listen to this all day now.” 

A smirk breaks out on your face. “But Kanda I just love Allen so much!! I need to scream it to the sun!” 

“Get out.” He doesn’t move, but his words are ice cold and sharp. His tone tells you _I will not stand for this bullshit, Lavi._

“But--”

“No.”

You sigh and stretch out on your bed, whining occasionally as you just can’t get comfortable. You might never want to lay in a bed alone now. It’s just so much better with someone else next to you. Someone with soft hair and amazing lips and a smile that can melt your heart. Someone named Allen Walker. 

“I miss Allen…” 

“For the love of…” Kanda throws his head back and spins to look at you. “Do not be like this.” 

“Kanda, you’ve known me for two years now. Does anything you know about me say I won’t be like this? Whatever ‘this’ even means.”

“A love sick puppy. And no, that’s you to a dot. But keep it inside, or I swear I’ll end you.” Kanda doesn’t like whining. He apparently likes whining about adoration even less. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Allen? Either way, you certainly cannot be expected to keep everything inside.

“Mehhhh…” 

“No.” 

You sigh again. Loudly. Just for Kanda’s benefit. 

“Don’t you have a boyfriend to annoy?”

“He has class right now. Won’t be out for another hour. At which point, I have class for two hours. We didn’t plan mondays and wednesdays out very well.” Next term you’re going to try your hardest to match up classes, which is only getting harder the closer you get to only taking classes for your major. 

“Maybe I should have done the same.”

“Every time you open your mouth you’re either rude to me or telling me to stop.” 

“That really can’t be helped.” When did Kanda get so sassy? You think it was always there, just buried in a fine later of hate and indifference to the world. Maybe when you chip enough of that away, sassy dark humor is all that is left. Seems fitting, really. 

“Kanda, you wound me.” 

“I haven’t done anything of the sort. Yet.” And mild death threats, how could you leave those out?

“Emotional wound, Kanda. Much more worse than physical. Sticks and stones may break my bones but, man, words will leave me an emotionally scarred for the rest of my life.” 

He doesn’t even grace you with an answer. 

\----

Lenalee meets you in the courtyard after class, greeting you with a statement and question, and not her usual _hi Lavi, how was class_. “Lavi, it’s February first. Do you know what that means?” 

“We only have one more month of snow before spring comes? In theory, at least.” Not that you minded the snow, but it did get a little old. You miss being able to go outside without soaking your jeans or shoes. Even Allen, who was enraptured by the small white flakes, and Kanda, who grudgingly took advantage of the freshly fallen snow for his photos, appeared to be quite _done_ with _the whole snow thing._

“In theory, but that’s not it. I’ll give you a hint: it’s a holiday that turns all the stores red, pink, and white.” 

“Valentine’s Day?” Oh. That’s what she’s getting at. Oh. 

“Bingo! And guess who has a boyfriend this year. I’ll give you a hint, he loves overly cheesy romantic things, which Valentine’s Day is practically founded on.” 

…Well, she’s not wrong. You love cheesy romantic stuff, it’s a part of your soul and Allen probably has no idea what he’s in for yet.

“I think it’s more founded on capitalism and the idea you only need to show you love someone one day a year.” Morally, you have some issues with the ‘holiday’. First off, the commonly known history of Valentine’s Day isn’t even right, which is annoying within itself.

“Stop being negative. I just want to know what you’re planning to do, because you’ve got to do _something_.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about it… kinda slipped my mind.” 

“Slipped your mind?” Lenalee stopped walking and caught you by your sleeve, pulling you to look at her. “Lavi, you have to make that boy swoon or I will cry.” 

“What if I want to be the one swooning, Lena?” You’re not sure which you would rather do, but you do know making you swoon would be easy. Ridiculously easy. Embarrassingly too easy. 

“Don’t worry, I’m giving Allen the exact same talk.”

“Sometimes I feel like you get a kick out of me and Allen being together.” 

She shrugs. “Beats doing drugs.” 

\----

“Don’t you have homework you should be doing?”

“I am doing it.” You say, like a liar. 

“You are staring at me, and I am not your homework.” A pause. “And you’re not doing me, either.”

“Cute.” You settle your chin in your hands and blink slowly, never taking your eyes off Allen. He stares back in equal measure, book loosely held (forgotten) in his hands as he pushes himself up more to look at you rather than relax on his stomach. Allen’s legs swing slowly behind his head, tapping together occasionally, perhaps to match whatever is in his ears, something quite and lyricless, _study music_ he called it _I hate silences._

He smirks. “This isn’t working.”

“I’m trying, Allen, I really am.” You kind of are. Kind of. You have acknowledged the fact you have the first half of Utopia to read, but you’ve also acknowledged your really nice looking boyfriend and as fascinating as Thomas More’s view of the Americas as a ‘perfect’ society is, you would pick staring at Allen over staring at a book any day.

“You haven’t taken your eyes off me once since we started.” He’s not wrong but you still wished your staring had gone more or less unnoticed. 

“Well if you’ve been so observant that just goes to show you haven’t been reading either.” You nod at his book and he laughs a little, as if to say, _well you’ve got me there._

“I know and I feel so bad, Rosemary’s story is very interesting but I think I suffer from the same problem you do.” Bookmark in, book closed; he sets it off to the side, matching your position and crossing his ankles in the air. He must know how good he looks when he explicitly poses like that, right? He has to know he does things to your heart, like making you a flustered mess for example.

“And what problem is that?”

“My boyfriend is right here and yet we’re laying on opposite beds doing homework.” Allen looks as if the world itself had personally offended him. “It’s a crime, really. College is getting in the way of my plans.” 

“At least we’re both suffering. Equal pain and all that.” 

“I can always count on you to find the bright side of the situation, Lavi.” He smiles and shakes his head a little, hair sweeping back and forth. It’s definitely a longer. You like it, and you think Allen does too. 

“That’s me, Mr. Optimism.” 

“Last term you were willing to ‘embrace death’s sweet release’ instead of writing your English paper.” Ah yes, that. Yes, you were, because being limited to exactly four pages on a massive comparison of two books is maddening and being forced to write like an English major when you’re a history major is the worst kind of hell. 

“That’s not negativity, Allen, that’s just being dramatic.” 

“Nice to hear you admit it.” Allen smirks and stretches his arms out in front of him, then places one back under his chin. The other he leaves dangling off the bed, stretched out toward you. You can take a hint when it’s presented so nicely. 

“I know I’m dramatic but it’s just all part of my charm.” You reach out catch his fingers, hooking them together and earning you a faint smile. “Admit it, you are wooed by my very presence.” 

“Well I’m wooed by something and god knows what it is because I’m stumped.” 

“Wow, Allen --”

“Rude?” He finishes your statement for you, with a shimmer in his eyes and a smug look on his face.

“That- How- Wow. I have a catch phrase.” 

“Yes. Yes, you do. Which is _also_ endearing somehow. It’s kind of amazing considering you’re about fifty percent dork.” 

“It’s a gift.” Silence. Allen squeezes your fingers slightly. “Hey Al?”

“Yeah, Lavi?”

“I was thinking earlier, it’s the beginning of February, which holds a holiday that’s pretty famous for couples…”

“Lenalee?”

“Yeah.” You sigh. At least she’s a woman of her word. “But her pushing aside I think it would cool to do something.”

Allen looks… pensive. He bites his lower lip in that way you haven’t pinned down as being nervous or contemplative. Did you come off sounding too eager? Probably. You want to exploit this holiday as the perfect reason to shower Allen in affection, which would probably be easier if you spent the day inside, because you’ve gotten better about not blushing around Allen, but around other people you’re still a mess. 

Allen finally replies, slowly working over each word as it leaves his mouth. “Everywhere will be crowded on the fourteenth.”

“Are you okay with that?”

He nods. “I can do that. Let’s make a bunch of adorable memories. You better get me chocolate.”

“Fine, but I want a huge teddy bear, I’m talking massive, Allen.” You stretch out your arm as far as you can, flexing out your fingers in all directions. “Like the kind we saw in the store back in november.” 

“Lavi, those cost two hundred dollars. You’re worth every penny but I’m a broke college student.” 

“Fine, I’ll settle on a huge plush dragon.” 

That gets you a laugh and another smile. “I’ll try my best. But now…” Allen grabs his previously discarded book. “Let’s race. First one to get their reading done gets to kiss the other.”

Allen has less to read, but you’re a fast reader. Then again, you wouldn’t mind losing. “Sounds like my kind of game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the kudos and comments, they mean the world to me, this is a double post for chapters, so I hope you enjoy the next one just as much as you like this one. Thank you for reading, Happy Holidays and New Year, I'll see you in Jan 2016 sometime with a new chapter


	23. Chapter 23

You start the fourteenth out with hot chocolates at the café, extra whipped cream because some how Allen convinced you the best way to start your day was with a little sugar. Which could also account for the cinnamon roll instead of the scones you were planning on. But a little indulgence never hurt nobody. At least that’s what Allen says, with a smile on his face and whipped cream on his nose. 

It’s horribly adorable. 

_Can Lavi Bookman make it through Valentine's Day without dying of Allen overload? Stay tuned to find out._

“You already know I got you chocolate, do you really need this much sugar?” You met Allen outside his room this morning, practically throwing the frilly heart box at him when he opened the door. He said thank you with a kiss and the promise you’ll get your gift later. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions. Plus I didn’t even eat any yet, so let me start off my morning right.” He pauses, spoon half way between his lips, a slight curve pulling at the corners. “Well I already got to kiss you, so I did start the day off right.” 

“You have some kind of fixation on my mouth.” 

He only shrugs, smile widening. “Probably. Cross did tell me I have an oral fixation because I used to love chewing or sucking on things, like gum or straws or candy canes or plastic spoons even. It’s true, but it still kind of hurts when you’re called out on it with the words ‘you’re going to make a boyfriend very happy one day.’”

You snort into your drink, almost choking as you struggle to contain your laughter. Allen laughs with you, deep and loose, as if he didn’t care if people stared. It’s not a look he often has around other people, _I’m used to people staring,_ he told you once, _I worked in a circus and have white hair, it’s more odd for people not to stare._ Still he didn’t often do things that drew even more attention to him _(if people want a performance, they have to pay me)_ , it was nice to see him acting like himself, acting how he does when it’s just you in the room. 

Leaving the café, Allen slips on an icy patch and flails for a moment, eyes wide and arms all over. You act before you can even think, planting your feet and grabbing Allen’s arm, steadying his wobbling body. He clutches onto your arms in equal measure, trying not to fall. “Woah, careful there.” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” There is a faint laugh in his exhale, a slight nervous in his shoulders he quickly shrugs away. “I always forget about the ice.”

“Ha. You wouldn’t if the seniors turned the courtyard into a ‘ice slip n’ slide’ this year, thank god for that.”

“Sounds like a bad time.”

“It’s all fun and games until someone smacks face first into a bench and needs stitches on their forehead.” You shake your head. 

The next stop is a bus ride to the town over, then a short walk, ending at a revamped record store. Just rows and shelves and cabinets of everything from tapes to records to CDs - a music junkie paradise, and you set Allen free. Either your best idea or your worst.

You watch him fawn over records, picking up some and holding them with a longing look in his eye, eventually reaffirming that even as classic as it sounds, if he already owns the digital copy or has burned CD copies in storage somewhere, he doesn’t need to buy something he can’t even play. He points out a few which were new, artists of the digital download era still releasing records because they would be collectors items. He gives you run downs of bands, compares albums, holds up CDs and tells you his favorite song or general opinion or how it makes him feel. And his smile never leaves his face, his eyes never stop sparkling, and both even seem to double when he shows you a CD you know.

You offer to buy him a CD or two, he declines with that look in his eyes that tells you he wants to say yes, he really does but he isn’t because of some principle or something. Well that’s crap because you’re allowed to spoil your boyfriend, and you tell him so while dragging him over to the _used_ section, compromising on he can pick out any CDs he wants but it can’t cost more than five dollars. He fumbles about for a minute, but you see that faint smile on his face and you resist the urge to throw your fist into the air like John at the end of _The Breakfast Club._

He flips through the CDs lazily, laughing at a few obscure names and pictures, or smiling fondly at classics people “sadly gave up”. Then he freezes, fingers caught under “C”, an album called _Alegría_ , and another behind it _Dralion._

“These… are so underpriced.” He flips the albums to you, disbelief coating his face along with a thin streak of _I am almost personally offended by this_. “Two dollars a piece, for Cirque du Soleil CDs, this hurts my heart, Lavi, it really does. I got my O one for at least twenty.” 

“So will you let me spend four dollars on you?” He hesitates for a moment, opening his mouth slightly, probably to protest, but snapping it shut and nodding. “I feel bad but I want them.”

“No feeling bad, none at all, nope, let me spoil you.” You slide behind him, resting your chin on his head and pushing your hands into his pockets. It’s quite comfortable, you should do it more often. Plus you can practically feel his eye roll, and you can definitely feel his sigh but he doesn’t shake you off or push you away. He likes it. He won’t admit it, but he likes it. 

“Four dollars, wow, I feel so spoiled.” 

“You can’t whine about how I’m not spoiling you if you don’t want me spending money on you, Allen.” 

“Touché. But I feel bad, like I should get you something too. See anything you like?”

“I don’t know. Pick something out for me, what do you think I’ll like?” He scoffs and grabs an album he’d swooned over earlier, _you don’t understand Lavi, every song is amazing, there is not one bad song on the album, even if you don’t love them all at first they grow on you, I’m still mad I didn’t get it when it came out, I waited two years when I could have been listening to it the whole time, it’s criminal, really._

“Some time I’m going to sit you down and have you listen to all my music, then you’ll pick out your favorites and I’ll make you a playlist. Or several. Then I’ll know what kind of music you like. But for now, Foster the People.” He taps the CD. “Plus knowing what music someone likes shows a lot about their character, I think it would be interesting to know what makes you feel like dancing.” 

“The same goes for books you know; what stories someone likes shows a lot about who they are.” You hug his back with your shoulders and walk in tandem with his steps. He sighs again, his _I’m tolerating your actions because I like you but don’t press your luck_ sigh. “So we should trade: for every song I listen to, you read a book I like.”

“That’s hardly a fair trade. A song per chapter perhaps? What about for every minute of music, I read a page? An album per book? That could work.” 

“Something like than can be arranged. Would you read a book if I bought it for you?”

“Probably. Would it make me cry? I try to avoid things that will make me cry.” Liar. He has a whole playlist of sad music, or rather music that makes him feel sad. 

“But the best ones are always the ones that make you cry!” Allen starts to sigh again, so you do instead, dramatically. “Buuuutttt I guess I could give you something not emotionally devastating to start.” 

“Then I know what we should do next.” 

You take the bus back, getting off down town near a little indie bookstore which catered to the college crowd. You’d been here a few times, when you didn’t just cave and order your books online, and it was nice place. Very warm and cosy. They could easily claim they had the comfiest couches in the state too. Once you came in here just to read and wound up falling asleep on one of the couches in the back; you also ended up scaring the daylights out of Miranda when she found you back there. You both must have apologized a million times and overall, the experience probably made you slightly better friends. Or she’s terrified of you. Who knows. 

“I’ll buy you a book, you buy me a book. And I’ll leave both choices up to your judgement.” 

“What kind of story do you like?”

He shrugs and you expected as much. “Something that makes me feel.” 

“And yet you don’t want to cry?” You walk slowly, dragging your fingers along the smooth bindings, eyes glancing quickly over titles. Allen moves behind you, eyes scanning the store, every once in a while picking up a book that catches his eye. You can’t tell if he looks interested in what he finds, but he returns every book to its place with nothing more than a soft hum. “That’s a little hard to do.”

“Well I try to avoid it, but I don’t mind a good story making me cry.” You catch his smile out of the corner of your eye and turn to face him. “You’ll just have to listen to my broken heart whining and crying.”

“Well if it comes to that I’ll just have to make you feel better.” 

“You’ll have to _kiss_ it better.” He corrects, fingers brushing over the back of your hand. You catch his hand and bring it to your mouth, placing a quick kiss on the back of his cold fingers, earning a soft smile half hidden by Allen biting his lower lip.

“Now that can definitely be arranged.” 

“I would sure hope so.”

You buy Allen a book that made you cry, and you know it will probably make him cry too, but you defend your choice by saying it’s criminal to not share this book with as many people as possible. So you’ll indirectly make Allen cry and then kiss him better, you hope he’ll forgive you for it though. You pick out a book you’ve never read, but it’s been on your list for a while. Like Allen, you’re going on faith it will be good because you know the author’s other works. 

You walk back to the dorms and drop the bags off at your room and run into Kanda as you leave again, which makes Allen pull you down into a very intense kiss. You’re breathless and quite unable to process your surroundings but you do see Allen stick his out tongue and Kanda respond with a sneer. 

You do lunch at a restaurant back downtown, the least crowded one you can find which also happens to be the one the less decked out in red and pink and cut out frilly hearts. You almost forgot it was Valentines Day until you saw couples packed into booths and roses everywhere. It might be worth it to go into the florist business just for Valentines Day, because, oh man, there are a lot of roses. You’re lucky Allen didn’t ask for flowers because you’re sure there are no more roses in the state, let alone the city. 

Allen drags you from your mental rant about flowers with “Do we have plans after this?”

“No, not really…” You’ve been playing by ear, but you could think of one cool thing to show him. “Well, have you been to Lala Park?” 

“No. I skipped the freshman activity walk down there during the first week.” You laugh a little and he crosses his arms. “In my defense, I completely forgot and also I didn’t want to go.” 

“Aw! I should have taken you back in fall, the trees are so beautiful, but I think it would look nice with a light snow coating. There might even bee ice in the lake. Well, probably not, maybe back in January.” You toss that thought away with flick of your wrist, and smile fondly at the memory. You need to take him in fall, it’s an experience you can’t put into words. You never went in winter, you would love to though. “It’s so beautiful, and oh man, in spring the Garden is full of so many flowers it’s really nice.” 

“Sounds amazing. Let’s do it.” 

Allen loves the park, walking in twists and crossed steps as he looks all around, eyes lingering on specific patches, his fingers drumming on his leg slightly. There is a look in his eyes you asked him about once, to which he answered _I do choreography in my head when I find a place or hear a song I think is beautiful_ , so he really loves it, enough to want to dance in it. You may take a discreet picture or two when Allen is standing by the lake, the edges of your view framed by branches lightly coated in snow and the occasional icicle, or when he’s walking along the path that’s absolutely lit up with color in the fall, but is now glazed with snow. He looks so right with the contrasting colors, nothing much besides white and brown, the occasional evergreen even being masked mostly in white. 

You love the look on his face when he speaks to you, eyes still locked on the branch canopy over the path. “It’ll all melt soon, and then wow this place will be beautiful, huh?” 

“It’s always beautiful, but yeah, spring is amazing here.” 

“You mentioned a garden?” Allen smiles and extends his hand. “Show me.” 

You take his hand and lead him on the path around the lake, past the hidden-but-everyone-knows-it’s-there play structure, and father back until the path slightly inclines. You follow it until you reach the metal archway, a tall open gate that just looks so worn by time, especially in the winter. At least the spring and summer seasons provide a bright contrast to the rusted metal, but the snow just amplifies it’s age. 

Allen takes in a breath as you turn into the garden, then freezes, pulling back on your hand. “Let’s go.” He whispers.

“What?” You flick your gaze from the startled look on his face into the garden, following his eyes until you find a tall man and a young girl standing at in the center by the old oak tree. She turns her head slightly, a huge grin breaking out on her face as she spots Allen hiding behind you. 

“Allen Walker. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

Allen lets out a shaky breath and forces a smile onto his face, hand tightening in yours. You haven’t seen him this nervous since the party you first met him at, where those girls where practically trying to eat him alive. This girl terrifies him, or at the very least he does not want to be anywhere around him. Your eyes drift to the man and you place him after a moment - one of the men who had been staring Allen down at the Halloween party. 

_Well I did just come from a party with my best friend, danced with said best friend, cried a little, saw the cousin of this girl who was obsessed with me in high school…_

_I knew someone in high-school who would do anything to be around me. And she had no signs of letting up when I graduated. I moved almost all the way across the country and ran into one of her cousins, so she might know where I am._

No. No that’s not… 

“Allen Walker, well isn’t it a small world.” The man says, his eyes swimming with mischief, a perfect match for his lightly smirk and the way he tilts his top hat. _His… top hat? Who does this guy think he is and what era does he live in?_ Okay but, you’ll give him the fact he looks good in it.

“Road, Tyki, long time no see.” Allen’s tone tells you it should have been longer. Much longer. 

When he said let’s go you should have turned on your heels without a question asked. 

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?” The girl, you’re not sure who’s name goes to who now that you think about it, neither Road or Tyki is a common name, gestures to you. There is something in her eyes, something territorial. She stands firm, hands rested on an umbrella in front of her body. 

“Forgive me for this.” Allen whispers, moving to stand next to you, trying to hide your entwined hands behind his body but very unwilling to let go. “Road, this is Lavi. Lavi this is Road and her cousin Tyki. Road and I went to high school together.” 

“Is she…” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s not nice to whisper when other people are around.” Road says, walking up to Allen slowly, swinging the umbrella around in a circle. “Trying to keep secrets from me, Allen?” 

“What are you doing here?” Allen avoids her question, and she knows it. You can see it in her eyes. You’re on thin ice, but she’s agrees to play along.

“I’m doing online school now, so I can visit Tyki whenever I want and not just on breaks. He’s a student up here, you know. The family finally talked him into applying himself.” She glances fondly back at Tyki, who only smiles and walks forward to join her. It’s almost like dancing, they take a step forward and Allen takes a step to the side, maneuvering both of your bodies to maintain a essence of space between Road and Tyki. 

“Is that so? What are you studying?” Civilized conversation, look for an escape, you know the game Allen is playing well. He needs a reason to leave, and this time you’re not on the outside to pull him away.

“Business, at least that’s the idea for now. I’m open to change.” 

“He’s your boyfriend, right?” Road interjects, pointing the umbrella at your chest. “Right, Tyki? He’s the redhead from that party you told me about. Tyki said you two looked good together.”

“What if he is?” Allen pushes her umbrella down, a shimmer of confidence in his voice you can’t place as real or fake. 

“Then you break my heart, but if you’re into guys, I guess it can’t be helped.” Road sighs, dropping her umbrella all the way to lean on it instead, a dejected look on her face. “Shame, because I like you and really think you should be mine, but oh well.” 

Her face goes blank, and Tyki says her name in a warning tone. The umbrella comes up again, this time with force, and you step to avoid being hit. But your feel the ground slip from under your shoes. You feel your body fall, Allen’s hand slide from your hand. You don’t see his face, but you see the flower beds, barren of flowers but not of snow, and the short spiked metal fences which keep people from treading into the flowerbeds. It’s the last thing you see, before pain. 

Unbelievable pain shooting through your head. It starts at your right eye, the center of the flaring agony, the source of pulsing through your face, through your skull, and the bursting and flowing red. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurtsithurtsithurts, you don’t have the words to explain how much it hurts, how it washes over you in sticky waves, overwhelming waves that take your breath away and fade your world to red, then to black.

Someone screams? Maybe you? Allen definitely does, he screams your name. It’s the last thing you register before the pain wins out and everything becomes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for everything / Oh, everything I've done / From the second that I was born it seems I had a loaded gun / And then I shot, shot, shot a hole through everything I loved - Shots, Imagine Dragons


	24. Chapter 24

You hate heart monitors. By far, they are your second most hated thing about hospitals. The third is how white and bright everything seems, yet how gloomy the atmosphere feels. The first is the smell. If “clean” -- no, _sterile_. If sterile was a smell, it would be the smell of hospital. It’s raw in your throat, burns in your lungs, and doesn’t feel natural. 

Nothing about this situation feels natural. You shouldn’t be standing in a hospital on February fifteenth, your chest clenching and your heart vanishing every time you glance down at the bed and find beautiful red hair surrounded one closed eye and one bandage. You shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t have happened. Why did this happen? 

“It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

And just to top it all off, the _beeping, beeping, beeping_ in your ears and sickly blank smells in your nose, the white, the murmuring voices and tests and occasional shout and constant reassurance in the patented nurse and doctor _everything is going to be alright_ voice, everything makes your skin crawl. You take in a deep breath and the smell wraps itself around your throat, suffocating and smothering you. Your muscles shake (you try to concentrate it in your fingers and legs, something that looks natural), your lungs ache (every breath sends needles into your chest, poking and jabbing from the inside out), tears well up in the corner of your eyes that you’ve stopped trying to hold back because you can’t. You really can’t. 

“Yes it is.”

“No, it’s not. It’s really not.” 

“But--”

“You can’t blame yourself for accidents, Allen. You’ve told me everything that happened, and I’m telling you it’s not your fault.” 

You don’t believe her. Lenalee is right about many things, but you’re the master at blaming yourself and not even she can convince you otherwise. Silence falls and the beeping picks up again, the smells amplify, you close your eyes but it doesn’t help, your head is murky and you’re drowning within yourself, screaming, clawing at your skin, unraveling strings that hold your limbs together, tossing yourself back and forth, throwing your arms up and screaming, screaming screaming -- you bite down on the inside of your cheek and tell yourself to _shut up._

You can’t function. Between being in a hospital in general and being in a hospital because the person you really, really love with all your heart is hurt, how can you be expected to function? 

For the first time in years you don’t have your earbuds. You don’t have access to the music that grounds you, calms you down, numbs the overwhelming sensations all around you, so instead you’re playing the game: _how long can Allen Walker last before he cracks and needs leave._

If you know yourself at all, and you like to think you do, the answer to that question is _not for very much longer. [I’ve got to take control. I remember doing the Time Warp]_

You take another deep breath and can’t stop the shudders that rack of your body as you sink into yourself, crouching down and trying to pull your body closer to your center.

“Allen?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” You lie, trying to come off sounding like anything but on the verge of tears or screaming. You stand quickly and before you know it you’re walking to the door, passing Lenalee with a whisper _I’m sorry, I need to leave_. Your heart screams out in shame with every step you take away from Lavi. You shouldn’t leave him. You shouldn’t _need_ to leave him. But you can’t stay, and you hate yourself for it. 

Your steps echo in your head, the lights blind your eyes, the voices become mumbles all around you and every ounce of your energy is put into not breaking into a sprint to make it to the doors faster. You don’t think you take a real breath until you throw open the main doors and run into the _real_ air - then and only then do you fling yourself open to the sharp bite of February's chill, and it works like a charm, wakes you up, sends a shock into your lungs that rattles through the rest of your body. You think it’s a kind of detox - the brisk air flushing your system of the chemical smells you can still taste in your mouth. 

Another breath. You want that smell to become a memory. You don’t want to smell it ever again. But you will, because against the screaming in your head you’ll force yourself back here, back into that room with the beeping like rocks being thrown at you head, and you’ll sit there again and cry because Lavi’s the one in the bed and just knowing that is killing you. It’s burning up your heart, in a way you haven’t felt in years, in that way that hurts unlike anything you’ve experienced. 

Another breath, deeper, you hold it in your lungs like a ballon and as you release it, you release your body, falling into a steep bow, pulling yourself back up on the next inhale. Does it help? You don’t really know, but moving always helps, gets the blood flowing, reminds you you’re alive, or something. _At least that’s what you were taught._

A very long time ago. 

By a memory. 

As if on cue to shake you from the spiral of sadness you are about to fall into, your phone rings. _[one, two, three, one, two, three, drink. one, two, three, one, two, three, drink…]_ Cross is calling. He’s probably heard by now. Some how he always hears what’s happened around you. You wonder if this is a level one or level two call?

“Hello.” You try not to sound as dead as you feel. It doesn’t work. 

“It’s me.”

“I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet.”

“Allen-” 

“To go over… everything.”

“Shut up.” 

“Telling someone to shut up while they’re singing Adele is a sin.” But maybe it’s good he stopped you, you wouldn’t want to get carried away. _[I get carried away, carried away from you, and I'm hoping and I'm praying…]_

You can hear him sigh under his breath, or take a drag from a cigarette. It’s hard to tell sometimes. 

Cross says: “How are you holding up?” What he means is: _How are you handling being in a hospital?_

You say: “I’m alive.” What you mean is: _I am_ barely _alive, I can’t be here anymore, please come get me._

“Thought so.” This time it’s definitely a sigh. 

“I don’t like the pattern I seem to have developed.” You spit the words out before you can stop yourself, taking criss-cross steps backwards until your back is resting against the cold bricks of the building. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Twelve, Fifteen, Eighteen. I’ve been in a hospital three times, each three years apart.” The car accident, passing out in class, and now… Lavi. 

“At least it isn’t you in the hospital bed this time.”

“I kind of wish it was.” 

“You would be a wreck trapped in there.” 

He’s not wrong, in fact he’s spot on, after all, he’s seen it before. You were discharged early at fifteen, after going into a panic attack from being in the hospital. But still, you could handle being hurt, you’re used to being hurt. You don’t know what to do when people you love are hurt, when the constant reassurances from doctors telling you _it’s okay, he’s going to be just fine_ are pushed out of your mind to replay _we’re sorry, but your father… he didn’t make it._

When people you love get hurt, they aren’t fine. And it terrifies you beyond belief. 

“Just please come get me.” 

“Should be almost there by now.” 

“You shouldn’t be talking on the phone and driving.” 

“I’m not driving.” 

“Then who--” You snap your head up at the sound of Cross’ truck pull into the parking lot. The man who steps out isn’t Cross. He’s shorter, and his hair isn’t a huge mess of red. It’s still a mess, but darker, and his eyes - those eyes that some how scream life but still hold sadness in their depths… the eyes you have, probably. 

“Neah.” You whisper his name once and Cross sighs before the line goes dead and you’re running into your uncle’s arms. 

“Hey, Allen. Miss me?” Neah’s hugs are warm, like those of somebody who you used to know. 

\----

The first time you met Neah Walker was at Mana’s funeral. 

You were standing at Cross’ side the whole time, never shedding a tear (you cried waterfalls all the days before, leaving you empty while everyone else in attendance cried puddles and buckets), mostly hiding behind Cross when people came up to shake his hand and bend down to you with _I’m sorry about your… father._ Others kept their distance or stared, not sure what to say to the twelve year old with white hair and bandages on his face. 

Then there was Neah. You saw him before he saw you, and your heart caught in your throat. He terrified you. The man with Mana’s face, but with shorter hair. Had his hair been longer, you would have believed he was Mana’s ghost come back to visit everyone one last time. But this man was different, you could tell, but he just looked similar enough to give you a heart attack.

Cross must have picked up on your discomfort, because his eyes followed yours and upon reaching Neah, he scowled. “What does he think he’s doing?” 

You didn’t say anything. You hadn’t been saying much of anything. 

Neah must have spotted Cross then, as he carefully made his way over toward the two of you, and Cross pushed you behind his legs even more. 

“Cross, hello.” He spoke softly and it tore your heart out, how _alike_ he sounded to the person who was lowered into the ground not an hour ago. The voice you thought you would never hear again. He bent a little around Cross, looking down at you with a soft look on his face, a look you knew well, and you buried your face into the back of Cross’ coat in a childish attempt to hide. “You must be Allen.”

“What are you doing, Neah? Trying to scar him for life? You can’t just show up to funeral with the face of the deceased and introduce yourself to his kid.” 

Neah was taken aback by Cross’ comment, as if he never never thought what seeing him could do to you. “Okay, it is tasteless, but there aren’t any rules against it. Did you expect me not to come to my own brother’s funeral?” 

That caught your attention. _Brother._ You didn’t know Mana has a brother. He never mentioned anyone besides himself. In fact, you knew very little about Mana’s family. 

“You could have called with a warning.” 

“Yes, because a warning would have gone over so well.” Neah smiled and squatted down to see you, something you didn’t make a simple task. “Hello, Allen. I’m sorry we never met before, but my name is Neah Walker. I’m Mana’s twin brother.” 

You peeked out from behind Cross, a painful feeling settling in your chest at seeing Neah’s face up close. Losing Mana was hard to accept. Seeing a face you never thought you would see again was even harder. 

“Neah.” Cross’ voice was stern, a warning, you now know. He was warning Neah not to push his bounds.

“You have different eyes.” It was maybe the fifth thing you’d said that day, but it was probably the most significant. They were the same shape and color and gave you the same warm feeling, but Neah’s eyes were different from the eyes you remember for Mana. They look focused and tired and a little sad, like he’s already cried enough over the lost of his twin. 

His eyes looked a lot like yours in that regard.

It was comforting, finding something different about him, finding something that didn’t look like Mana. You knew he was different, someone else, but seeing helped make you believe it. 

Neah smiled a little. “Are they?” 

You didn’t answer, but you stepped out from behind Cross, just a little. 

“Can I talk to you, just for a little?” The last part is directed at Cross with a flick of his eyes. You squeeze Cross’ hand once, but step out a little more, hopefully telling him you’ll be okay. 

“Scream if you need me.” Cross whispers to you. “And I mean that, Allen.” 

Neah walks you over to a bench within Cross’ line of sight, but far enough away from other people to be isolated. You sat in silence for a few minutes, just staring off into the horizon, before he finally spoke. 

“Mana told me about you. He wrote me a letter saying he gave up the circus because he adopted a kid. And I thought, when I get off this tour, I need to go visit my brother and meet this kid who changed his life, and thank him.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to cry. “It looks like I was a few years too late to come visit.” 

“The ‘tour’ made you late?” The words fall out of your mouth before you could think about them, your mind bubbling with things to say, things you want to know, _why didn’t Mana tell you, who is Neah really, what’s going to happen now?_ Mostly, you didn’t want to talk about Mana, and you didn’t like seeing Neah on the verge of tears. 

“Concert tours.” He clarified. “I’m a pianist. I play all over the world. I got caught up with work and neglected to visit. So I’m sorry these are the circumstances for our first meeting. It looks like he never told you about me. But I can understand that, no need to complicate a good thing unless you need to.” 

Neah sounded… hurt that Mana never mentioned him. And if you felt a little hurt that Mana was hiding something from you, you can only image what Neah must feel being on the other side of the equation. 

You said: “Mana taught me how to play the piano.” It’s the simplest way to convey what you were trying to say, and you hoped that he would understand what you meant by the small comment. 

“He did?” Neah was shocked, a streak of confusion on his face blending in nicely with the amazed look in his eyes. “But Mana… he wasn’t… he didn’t…” Neah fell silent, looking ahead again. “Thank you, Allen.” 

Silence fell between you again, a comfortable silence, broken again by Neah.

“Do you like music, Allen?”

“Yes.” 

He smiled. “Good. Music is like magic. It can make you feel and understand things, it can move your soul to its beat, it can make you feel like dancing when the world is falling apart. It can even block out reality for a moment, if it gets too hard to bare.” 

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small white object, an iPod, like you’d seen on the advertisements, and placed it into your hand. “Here. Consider this a present for all the birthdays I missed. It has a lot of music on it, so I’m sure you can find something you like. And if Cross will let me, I’ll give you access to my iTunes account.” 

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been a non-existent uncle and I don’t want to be. Also, I think you’ll need it.” 

Later you would accuse him of predicting the future, or maybe causing it by starting you on the road to addiction and giving you a way to escape life. Neah would only reply that it was a lucky guess, based on what he’s heard and what traumatic events do to people. He also told you it looked like it would take years to put back the light in your eyes, so he wanted you to be okay until then. 

But for now you thanked him, and held the small music player to your chest. 

He asked Cross if he could have a small place in your life. Cross asked you what you thought. You nodded. 

“He won’t be around much, he’s a famous musician after all.”

“It’s okay.” You were greedy. You didn’t want to lose anyone else, no matter how often he would actively be in your life. 

Cross sighed. Neah had stars in his eyes. Your father was dead. In his place, you got a distant uncle and a… Cross. If only twelve year old Allen Walker could see you now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your heart's a mess / you won't admit to it / it makes no sense / but I'm desperate to connect / and you, you can't live like this - Hearts a Mess, Gotye 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
> Also I hope you forgive me.


	25. Chapter 25

“What are you doing here? Weren’t you in Austria?” You’re not complaining, but truly Neah was the last person you expected to see today, let alone in general. Neah kept his word and remains a caring presence in your life, but more often it was a voice through headphones and a face on the other side of a computer screen. But for the most part, he was always there when you needed him. 

“Doesn’t matter where I am, I’m here when my nephew needs me.” 

“You don’t normally come over though.” 

“Well I missed your birthday because of a last minute rearrangement I couldn’t decline, so I was coming to visit as soon as I could anyway. When I touched down over here, I got Cross’ phone call.” 

You let out a breath that is supposed to be a laugh, shoving your face into Neah’s coat. It smells like travel. Airport terminals and concert halls, places you’d like to see one day. Places Neah promised to show you once you got out of college. “I’m so emotionally distraught he had to call you?”

“Well since I was already coming over, he decided it was my turn. He did handle the whole not-eating thing himself after all.” 

Your hands tighten slightly on his back. “I wasn’t _not eating._ I just wasn’t eating _enough_.” 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend.” 

You sigh and rest your head on his chest, the way you’ve told him _it’s okay_ since you were a kid. “So what you’re saying is you take turns looking after me.”

“Kinda. When we can.” 

“Then you’ve been slacking, aside from the ongoing feeding of my addiction.” 

He called sometimes, but more often than anything you would find money in the iTunes account you shared, almost like an allowance. Sometimes you wouldn’t find money, but an album instead, Neah’s subtle way of sharing music with you, a gift. Granted, you did the same; every song you bought he heard too and you must have lost hours talking about artists, music, and what you thought of it. It was nice. To find someone like you. Or maybe, Neah found someone like him? Or did he make someone like him the second he gave you that iPod? It hurts your mind to decipher your relationship sometimes. 

“I know.” Neah (much against your wishes) pulls away from the hug and scans your body, examining you for anything that might have changed since he saw you last summer. “Speaking of which, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without ear buds since I gave you an iPod.” 

“Well I was a little scatter minded yesterday. And today too.” You don’t tell him you left them behind at your room yesterday because you didn’t need them when you are with Lavi. 

You don’t tell him you haven’t been back to your room in twenty four hours. You don’t tell him you some how ended up at the Denny’s by the highway after walking blankly for an unknown amount of time. You don’t tell him how you made it through the night listening to 90s rock music, drinking too much coffee, and lying to the waitress who asked _oh honey, who broke your heart?_

_[When it’s over, and my heart breaks, and the cracks begin to show… and the cracks begin to show]_

You especially don’t tell him how much you hate yourself for not being able to stay by Lavi’s side. 

“I can tell.” You’re really not trying to hide how… distraught you are, but Neah knows you well, very well, and just you not having music playing is enough to tell him how much you feel like you’re dying inside. “How are you feeling?” 

“ _If I Ever Feel Better._ With a splash of _My Mirror Speaks._ Maybe a little _Signs_.” You bite your lip and take a shaky breath, fighting back tears by crinkling your eyes. “Overall, I feel like carving my heart out of my chest with a spoon.” 

“I know the feeling.” Neah’s voice is a whisper, and it occurs to you this pain may be as close as you’ll ever get to feeling what Neah felt when Mana died. “You must love him a lot.” 

“I do.” You whisper. 

Maybe Neah knows you better than you know yourself, or maybe you are a lot more transparent than you think you are. When you first told Neah about Lavi, he smiled into his webcam and told you what you were feeling was called love - and it scared you. You didn’t know the feeling that well, at least you didn’t know it well enough to name the emotion that made your chest rise when Lavi smiled. You were in too deep before you even knew you were in at all, but Neah knew. Neah always knows what you’re thinking. 

“I really do.” 

“Are there any good places to eat around here? College towns normally have interesting places with interesting foods. I’ll treat you to lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.” It’s the truth, you’re not. You don’t feel like doing anything, except maybe curling up in a mess of blankets and crying. But saying you’re not hungry isn’t the right thing to say, considering your history with food.

“Allen,” You know that tone. You know it very well. You don’t like it. Especially when it comes from Neah. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Lunch. Yesterday.” Neah’s eyes widen slightly. You stop him before he can even start. “Don’t. Please, don’t. I know. You don’t need to lecture me.”

You hope your voice doesn’t sound as broken as you feel but it does, you know it does. You can see it in Neah’s eyes. You sound like you’re going to cry again. Do you still have tears to spare? 

_[Ever since I was a child, I’ve turned it over in my mind, I sang by the piano, tore my yellow dress and cried and cried and cried]_

“I’m not going to lecture you. I barely ate a thing after I found out about Mana. But, from what you’ve told me about your boyfriend, I don’t think he’s going to like waking up to you wasting away on his account.” 

It’s what you need to hear, but it still stings, like a slap to the face, no, more like poison - swift to drink and easy to go down, until it starts burning you from the inside out. Lavi… he wouldn’t want to see you like this. You wouldn’t want him to see you like this. You don’t want to see him until you feel better, but you know you won’t feel anything until you see him smile again. 

_[If I ever feel better, remind me to spend some good time with you. You can give me your number, when it’s all over I’ll let you know.]_

“Downtown…there is this sushi place. I’ve heard it’s pretty good.” Raw fish probably isn’t the best thing to eat after a twenty four hour fast, but you’re fond of rice and it’s the first thing on your mind. 

“Great. Come on.” Neah tilts his head toward Cross’ truck, a faint smile pulling up at the corner of his mouth. He must catch the way your eyes drift back to the hospital’s doors because he sighs and lightly places a hand on your arm. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but he is going to be okay, Allen. He has to be, after all I still need to meet him.”

“That’ll be interesting. I never mentioned you.” 

“What?” Neah looked mildly offended, his voice almost cracking as he visibly leans away from you. 

“You just… never came up.” He should have, you could have, and you’re not sure why you didn’t. Hell, you even mentioned your music addiction, you could have mentioned Neah. 

“What is it with people and forgetting to mention I exist!?” 

You flash him an apologetic smile as you climb into the truck. 

Time seems to fly by when you’re with Neah. He asks you questions about school and you answer with little explanation, after all there isn’t much he doesn’t already know. He does almost asks you why you’re not in class today, considering it’s monday and you have biology and english, but he cuts the question short and instead asks if you’ve heard Sia’s new album. You let out a breathy laugh and tell him of course you have. 

You don’t eat much over lunch, and all things considered sushi definitely wasn’t appealing when you felt like this, but under Neah’s careful observation you do eat, just enough to make him stop staring at you like he’s waiting for you to relapse. You have no intentions of ever being admitted to a hospital again. He shouldn’t worry. 

You spend the rest of the day outside, showing Neah around down town, looking into shop windows and occasionally going inside if he saw something that caught his eye. He buys a hand blown glass lobster wearing knitted swim trunks purely because _oh my god, Allen, I need that, Cross will hate it, omg, I’m getting it._ And you’ll give him credit that it does make you laugh, especially when he answers yes to _do you exist on this world purely to torment Cross?_

Neah tries to comfort, but his real talent lies in distracting. You think that’s why he gave you his iPod all those years ago, knowing you would need a distraction from the world. Or maybe so you could find comfort in music when nothing else worked. Either way, you are thankful that he tries. 

By the end of the evening you end up at an obscure Italian place wedged behind the parking lot near the dorms, and Neah offers to take you back to Cross’ for the night, but suggests you go back to class tomorrow. You can’t deny he’s probably right, and you don’t need someone to tell you Lavi would be disappointed if you wasted you education moping in your room, especially considering tomorrow you have history. 

It will be weird, not meeting Lavi after class so he could gush over your notes and tell you the fine points of whatever the lecture covered. Your chest caves in but you try not to show it. It doesn’t work too well. 

Neah drops you off at the dorm and it’s hard to pull yourself away from his arms. He promises to call you tomorrow after your last class, and see if you have time to meet up again. You ignore the people who stare at you as you walk into the building and press the button on the elevator. You try to ignore their whispers, their silent eyes, their frowns. Word always spread too fast for your liking. Don’t people have better things to talk about than what happened to others.

No. No they don’t. You learned that when you walked onto your high school campus for the first time and instantly became famous for standing out and for the rumors about Mana. People can be very cruel, especially when they don’t think they are. 

You manage to hold yourself together, down the hall, to your door, until you step inside. Sitting on your bed is a green plush dragon, an orange cloth wrapped around it’s neck. 

Lavi was joking when he told you he’s settle for a plush dragon for a Valentine’s Day gift. He didn’t know you knew exactly where to get one. You were waiting until you got back to surprise him. That worked out so well. 

You choke on the breath in your throat as streams of tears run down your face. Your knees hit the floor, followed by your side, as you sob into your arms and curl into yourself. You fall apart on the ground, unraveling into a mess forcibly held together with medical bandages. Somehow you work your phone out of your pocket and put on songs you love but also ones that pull at your heart strings. You fall asleep to the soft melodies, the pain in your chest, and your broken cries.

\----

The first time you smiled after Mana died was when you met Timcanpy. 

Cross and Neah were arguing, Neah practically begging Cross to take in the two month old golden retriever puppy, and Cross adamantly standing his ground that he did not want to take care of a dog, they were almost as expensive as a child, and if Neah wasn’t going to take care of it, he shouldn’t have adopted it. (Cross would later admit taking care of a dog was easier than taking care of a teenager, and you would stick your tongue out at him and continue to blast Alt-J). 

“He was the last in his litter, Cross. The owner was about to abandon him! I couldn’t let that go, plus look at that face, can you say no to that face?”

“Neah. It’s a golden retriever. That’s going to be a large dog that is going to eat and shit and need to be fixed and shots and yes, I can. No.” 

“You’re a cat person, aren’t you?”

“I’m a lady’s man above all else.” 

You walked into the kitchen half way through their discussion, tiredly wiping your eyes although you slept a little better than you previously had. Your arm was healing but it was still hard to move. Cross was teaching you card tricks to work your finger muscles and even though you fumbled most of them, you could tell you were getting slightly better. You were probably excited at the prospect of moving your arm freely again. Probably. Most of the memories from that time can be divided into two categories: fuzzy and emotionally devastated. 

“Morning, Allen.” Cross greeted you like it wasn’t almost noon, which it was. He said you could sleep whenever you could for now, until you started school again. 

“Allen!” Neah’s voice was more cheery and he spun around revealing a yellow ball of fur in his arms. “You want to meet someone?” 

You shrugged and stepped closer, the fur in Neah’s arms wiggling, raising his head to reveal a puppy. Neah bent down and the puppy barely waited to touch the ground before it jumped form Neah’s arms and ran over to you, excitedly sniffing your pants and running around your legs. 

You sat down on the ground and the puppy happily jumped over your legs and scampered around wherever your hands fell, demanding to be pet. He was soft and so small, which is hard to believe when you look at him now, considering how easily he can knock you to the ground if he jumps up on you. 

“His name is Timcanpy and I’m trying to get Cross to watch him when I travel.”

“No, you’re trying to get me to adopt him because you’re traveling most of the time. You’re going to spend more of your time in airplanes and concert halls than you’re going to spend with that dog.” 

“Someone needs to work to pay the bills since you sure aren’t going to.”

“Don’t make it sound like we’re married.”

“We’re not?” 

At that point Neah earned himself a quick hit to the side of the head, which he ducked, and you assumed that meant Cross had definitely hit him before and Neah knew just how to push Cross’ buttons. 

Timcanpy licked you hand and you let out a sound you think was a laugh, or something like it. It startled you, the sound. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed. Your cheeks pulled up as Timcanpy curled up in front of you, resting his head on your leg. Maybe Charles Schulz was right, happiness _was_ a warm puppy. 

“Okay now you can’t say no.”

“This was your plan all along wasn’t it.” Cross made a displeased noise. “You’re footing all the bills for the dog.” 

Neah and Cross go back to bickering but you tune them out as you pet Timcanpy. You don’t think you’ve ever felt something so soft. He looked at you with dark eyes that served as mirrors to see yourself. It made you uncomfortable, almost, like he was watching you, studying you. As if he was seeing something deep within you. 

“Do you understand me?” You bent low to his small face and whispered into his floppy ears. “What can you see with those eyes?”

He nipped at your nose in response, following with a lick. You take it as _I can try to understand you._

"I would like that." For the first time in months, you felt your heart beat. 

Timcanpy became your first friend, doing more than just replacing the hole in your heart when Neah left, giving you a hug, telling you he’d visit soon and that you best be good because Tim was watching you for him. Watching Neah leave hurt more than you thought it would, probably because he looked just enough like Mana to make you remember everything you didn’t want to. Probably because so many things in your life left you and you desperately wanted them all to stay. It was greedy, you know that, but being hurt makes you afraid of being hurt again. And in your case, you didn’t want to be alone again. You still don’t want to be alone again. 

Timcanpy whimpered as Neah left, circling your legs before retreating to his bed, a huge gray circle that Cross said would suit him when he gets bigger, but for now it was big enough so you could follow him, and fall asleep with Timcanpy curled into a ball near your chest. You fell asleep near him often, it made you feel safe, loved, and it was easier than crawling into Cross’ bed after he left in the morning just to smell something other than your own room, to smell something you could associate with comfort. To this day, Cross has never mentioned it, but you think he knows. There isn’t much about you he doesn’t know. 

Cross later told you that if you let Timcanpy sleep with you as a puppy, he’ll keep doing it when he’s a bigger, and eventually smother you in your sleep. You replied that it’s fine with you, he was warm and soft. You didn’t mention you don’t like being alone. Cross would insist you didn’t know how large golden retrievers got. 

You didn’t.

But you still didn’t complain when you woke up in the middle of the night because there was suddenly a huge weight on your chest. You just moved over and tried not to be suffocate in his thick fur. You didn’t complain when you had trouble getting up in the morning because if Timcanpy didn’t want to be awake, he wasn’t going to be awake. You didn’t complain when you would retreat to your room after a long night of studying only to find your bed already occupied.

(You _did_ complain a little when he went through his chew-and-destroy-everything phase, which included your headphones. Twice.)

You didn’t really mind the things Tim did, but you also weren’t going to give Cross the satisfaction of being right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I can tell just what you want / You don't want to be alone / You don't want to be alone / And I can't say it's what you know / But you've known it the whole time / Yeah, you've known it the whole time  
> \- What You Know, Two Door Cinema Club 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I would like to especially thank those of you that take the time to leave comments, because they really mean a lot to me, and this chapter only got done today because someone told me some very nice things, so thank you so much.
> 
> As always, updates will be irregular, my life has gotten a little too real, but there is more to come.


	26. Chapter 26

You end up skipping history. And philosophy. 

It wasn’t your intention, but you completely missed your alarm and woke up hours later to find e-mails from your professors telling you a Miss Lee came to them and explained your absence, so you’re excused for yesterday and today, but they would like you to return to class as soon as you can. All four of them also attach the numbers for the student wellness center. Two say they would like to hear from you, or they might have to file a report to look into your well-being.

You should thank Lenalee.

You should also go to class tomorrow. You still feel like you’re dying, of course, but it’s shifted from a burning emptiness in your chest to a numbness spreading throughout your bloodstream. Apparently you’ve gained the ability to skip months of emotional agony and instead go straight to numbness. Level up.

You’re still on the floor. And you’re cold. And you’re _still_ wearing the clothes from two days ago, which is disgusting, but you don’t have the energy to do much right now, let alone get up and shower. Although, sitting under the a constant stream of water does sound extremely pleasant right now. 

There is a knock on your door, which pulls a low quite groan from your lips as you force yourself to get up. Your back is in protest and your limbs feel heavy and you have to tell yourself to breathe into every part of your body so you’ll loosen up. The knock repeats and you mumble _yes, I know, I coming_ in a voice that no one inside you room could possibly hear, let alone someone outside your door. 

Somehow you pull your legs up, and an even bigger feat, you get your self standing on them and only stumble twice on your way to the door. Opening it reveals Lenalee in a long blue coat and her tall boots, a look she wears so well that you’ve always admired. Next to her is Kanda, camera around his neck and an orange scarf you would know anywhere in his hands.

Lenalee’s smile falters slightly when she looks at you, probably identifying your clothes as the ones you wore yesterday. “Hey, Allen. We thought we’d stop by and see how you’re doing.” 

“And drag you outside.” Kanda’s expression is worse, after all he saw you on the fourteenth.

“We want to do something for Lavi, take a bunch of pictures of his friends and make a poster. And of course, you have to be in them. We’ve done everyone but the three of us.”

“Okay.” They both look shocked you agree so easily, and really it doesn’t make sense, not even to you, but you don’t want to be alone and if it’s for Lavi, you would do anything. “Just give me half an hour, okay?” 

“Sure.” Lenalee smiles. “We’ll be waiting in the lobby downstairs. I will come get you if you don’t show up, though.” 

“I will.” You try to give her a reassuring smile and she gives you a sympathetic look before turning to walk down the hall. Kanda stays where he is.

“You’ve lost someone before.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. 

“Well if you can tell, so have you. You know what it’s like to feel nothing.” That earns you a quick smirk, an expression you didn’t even know Kanda was capable of producing. 

“Lavi’s not dead, though.” He tosses Lavi’s scarf at you, a surprisingly kind action, trying to comfort you, though he’ll probably deny it. “Keep that in mind.”

Kanda walks off, leaving you with those words, Lavi’s scarf, and thirty minutes to shower and get dressed. 

You turn on your iPod and sing in the shower. 

_For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you_  
_I think I’ve memorized your face, but then again who hasn’t?_  
_I guess that’s love, I can’t pretend, I can’t pretend_

You end up walking out the door in your most worn converse and the jacket Lavi got you for christmas. You have leggings on under your jeans, a tank top under the jacket, and your leg warmers, headphones, and Lavi’s scarf tucked into a bag you press into your side with every step. 

Lenalee smiles when she sees you and Kanda raises an eyebrow. You pat your bag, telling him you have Lavi’s scarf on you, and mouthing _it smells nice_ , earning you a light scoff. What can you say? You laugh to hide the pain. 

“Okay, let’s go.” 

Lenalee leads the way, you follow her, and Kanda follows you, snapping pictures all the while. It’s a quaint procession, like the kind you would find on the cover of a teen novel. The silhouettes of three people trudging through the tall grass on the outskirts-outskirts of the campus, heading over the railroad tracks, and slightly farther, to the river, rocks, and trees; a small little hideaway you found soon after coming to school. You did always feel more alive when dancing outside.

“Why are we going so far off?” 

“You’ve seen it, beansprout, it’s something special.”

“Beautiful is a more common word. So is Allen, which is my name, jackass.”

“Play nice, you two.” Only Lenalee could say something so gentle and yet have her voice coated in threat. 

After an excessively long study of the area, Kanda hands the camera to Lenalee at the overgrown railroad tracks, saying he would rather die than give you his camera. You remind him you’re beauty, you’re grace, and you’ll punch him in the face. Lenalee steps between you before punches can fly, which is good because you’re not in the mood for a fight, and if you were, you just might let Kanda win. Maybe it would do you some good. 

Lenalee only takes a few pictures, under Kanda’s careful instruction, and maybe it’s Kanda’s skill as a photographer showing, but you’re slightly tempted to agree with what Lavi told you once, that Kanda was pretty. You flick your eyes up and down his body, only finding distaste pooling in your chest. You are capable of appreciating someone’s aesthetic features, sometimes, but really, you get nothing. Objectively, maybe, he could be, but you can’t tell. What a shame. 

_[They say pretty boys are always like this, they say pretty boys just follow along the flow of things]_

You stop at the river and Kanda has Lenalee sit on some of the larger rocks, putting her in various poses and positions, trying to find the best lighting and setting. She makes a nice muse, simple, elegant, pretty, not to mention, her dark blue coat looks nice against the grey rocks and green plants. None of you say much, so you’re left to your thoughts, which you try to drown out with songs. It doesn’t work perfectly. 

Watching Kanda work reminds you of someone Cross once dated. She was an artist, mainly doing sketching, occasionally breaking out water colors. You don’t remember much of her, and your perception of time is so skewed from back then, you think she was around somewhere your freshman year, before you started the major decline. She often stared at you when you laid on the couch, earbuds in, or when you walked back in the house, again, earbuds in. She once asked if she could draw you and was elated when you shrugged your shoulders and told her sure. If it made her happy, it couldn’t be that bad. 

You stop again at the edge of the tree cluster, and Kanda tells you it’s your turn. Lenalee helps in positioning you against, next to, in front of, and everywhere else around them; you almost feel as if you are a marionette, and Kanda and Lenalee were holding your strings. If you were, you would be shattered, cracked, barely held together, but held together none the less - even if you are broken, you won’t give in that easily. You smile on command, picturing Lavi so it can look as real and natural as possible, until your thoughts drift to red, too much red, all over his face. Then you tuck your mouth into the cowl of your jacket, which Kanda says makes you look like a thug. 

Cross’ girlfriend studied you even closer after you gave her permission to draw you; sometimes she would come sit down across from you, sketchbook in hand, making absolutely no effort to be subtle about her task. Despite this lack of discretion, you never saw any of her works in progress. You did see one, you assume it was the finished product of all those sketches she did, when you came home from school to find a note on the table, telling Cross she was going to travel and study art, that she found inspiration in an angel. Under it was a manilla envelope with your name on it, and it, was you. 

She gave you wings. Huge white wings, spread out to the sides. Your head was thrown back and your arms were open but dangling, almost as if you were being dragged skyward by some force pulling at your heart. There was absolutely no color on your body, but the background was bursting with sharp, vibrant colors. It shocked you, how lovely it was, and it made you wonder what it meant, what she saw in you that made her draw this. _[My eyes have been closed to the world, ‘cause the world’s got nothing for me]_ You hid it in your room, mostly ignoring it. It almost made you uncomfortable, as if she saw more of you than you wanted people to see, or more than you would like to admit. You wouldn’t really look at it again until after your collapse sophomore year. 

It takes ten steps before Kanda turns and sees you’re not following them back to campus. He whispers something to Lenalee, probably telling her to stay there, as he comes back to you without her in tow. He kneels down to where you’re now laying on the grass, in a pale patch of sunlight. 

“You need to calm down.” It makes you laugh. You’ve heard that before. 

“Kanda, the last time someone told me to calm down, he was smoking a joint and carrying a bottle of jack.”

“And?”

“I took the joint from his mouth, smoked it, and then took a shot just for good measure. _Yeah, yeah, and I’m alright. I took a sip of something poisoned but I hold on tight._ ” You think you also shoved your tongue into his mouth, but in your defense on that one, he paid you for a kiss, but Kanda did not need to know either of those facts. You’re not even sure why you’re telling him anything about high school Allen, or he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned, because he no longer exists, since it’s bad for your psyche to dwell on the mistakes of the past. Whoops. 

“So?”

“So if you’re going to tell me to calm down, you have to give me something to calm down with.” You smile wide, hoping he knows you’re joking, kind of. Kanda only scowls. “Don’t look at me like that, it was a joke, I’m not eager to relapse into making stupid life choices.”

“When you say things like that, it makes me not want to let you out of my sight. For Lavi’s sake, if anything.”

“Ah, Kanda, you do have a heart.”

“I just don’t want you to break Lavi’s. Because I _will_ kill you.”

That stings more than you want to let on, so your burry your self hate and crack a joke, like a completely normal, functional adult. 

“Just let me enjoy the day, I’ll be back later. If not, you can assemble the guard.” Kanda doesn’t move, so let out a sigh and give him a smile, one that you can feel is lacking the spark in your eyes. A tired, defeated smile, one you and Neah wore a lot when you were younger. “I just need some time to myself, I’ll be back tonight. You have my word.” 

Kanda turns and walks away without another word. You bask in the sun until you can’t see him anymore, then you get to work. You replace your jacket with Lavi’s scarf and your pants with your leg warmers. You scroll through your playlists, artists, and songs, before ultimately picking a playlist full of songs that have a _“get lost”_ feeling to them. Appropriate, you would say.

So, simply put, you _lose yourself to dance._

\----

Therapy wasn’t working for you. That much was obvious. By the time you entered freshman year, you tried talking to four different people and long story short, none of them worked. You think one hit on you, two prescribed drugs and only dugs, and the last one did very little listening for someone who was paid to listen. The only solace you found was in in the iPod that never seemed to leave your hands and the music that ran through your soul every hour of every day. Which was pretty handy, considering your master playlist is in the order of songs as you bought them, so you know what music came out that year and where you were when you listened to it.

As for during freshman year… you don’t really remember. In fact, you really only remember two things. People staring and people dating. 

Most people stared at you. And whispered about you. All the time. Their eyes locked onto your face everywhere you went, whispering about your scar and your hair, a few brave souls being bold enough to cut through the whispers with direct questions, questions you never answered. You hated their attention and prying eyes, how desperately they wanted to know you and unravel all your secrets, how much you stood out in a crowd. You just wanted to fade into the background. You didn’t want to be noticed for any reason. 

Another thing you remember was a group of people in your class who seemed to fall in and out of love every week. Their ability to look at a person and instantly want to date, make out, and have sex with them was surreal to you. You never found the people they talked about particularly attractive, nor could you see the appeal in an instant-noodle-relationship - call you old fashioned, but you would prefer to know someone longer than two minutes before exchanging vows of eternal affection. You just could not wrap your head around the idea of falling into love that quickly, let alone falling into lust. 

When you told your _fifth_ therapist, they told you depression often affected romantic and sexual desire, and with the right medication you could experience a normal life how everyone did. Their words cut you open, almost as if they carved the word _broken_ into your chest, or rather, they deepened an already present wound, dragging the knife through the well worn letters. When you told Cross what they said, you never saw that therapist again. 

Sophomore year, at least the last half of it, was a bit easier to recall, namely because more significant events seemed to occur. If you were to make a graph of your life, at first look freshman year would appear stagnant, unchanging, immobile, a continuous line low on the graph, but examining it closer would show a slight decrease in slope as the days went on, a decrease that would not be noticeable until sophomore year, when the line would take a suicide plunge off the page and into the abyss. You’re not particularly proud of sophomore year Allen, but you cannot deny the past, you can only bury it or grow from it, or if you're Cross, perform a miracle and do both. 

Sophomore year Allen didn’t like eating around people, so, logically, skipping lunch was the reasonable course of action. Running out of the house in the morning without breakfast combined with this mindset created days where you didn’t eat until school got out or later, which was a horrible life decision considering on top of being a teenager, you just happened to have an abnormally high metabolism. It was truly a vicious cycle that you could not escape from, at least not until you almost passed out in chemistry, only to make it home before you collapsed in the entryway. You don’t remember anything until you woke up in the hospital for the second time. 

You were awake enough to scream and flail as an intense panic filling ever crevice of your body. The smell invaded your lungs with every breath, you were choking on the tube in your throat, you could feel the needle in your arm, the heart monitor racing - no, you couldn’t be here, not again, not again, you couldn’t be in this place with the too white walls and the chemical smell and lies springing from smiling faces and -- you think they must have injected something into your IV, because you passed out again, and the next time you woke up, Cross was there. 

Cross was patient when he needed to be, and he sat there staring at you, waiting for you to crack first and break the silence. You eventually gave, just like he wanted you to.

“Why am I here?” You couldn’t remember what happened, or why anything should have put you in the hospital. You didn’t do anything, and nothing ever happened that could do this to you.

“Because I came home and found you collapsed on the floor.” You didn’t know the tone in Cross’ voice, and you wouldn’t until much later when you ran this memory though your head over and over again trying to place it. It was concern and worry, emotions that were not common to find in Cross, and two so shallow and hidden Neah would have to point them out to you and tell you you’re the only one who can make him feel that way. Cross cared about you, he just never directly showed it, but it was there if you looked, you know that now. 

“I… collapsed?”

“You were starving yourself.” Always so direct with blatant statements of truth, at least he was when the truth needed to be addressed. 

“No…” 

“I don’t think you’re stupid enough to do it on purpose, but you did.” He sighed, running a hand through his long hair. You thought he was angry with you, and it scared you. “What I want to know is why.”

“I don’t… I don’t…” You were crying, slow moving tears sliding down the sides of your face to meet the pillow below your head. 

“Think. Why didn’t you eat?” 

Everything came out in a torrent of shaky torn breaths, harsh sobs, and quick, slurred words. You told Cross about how people looked at you, about how you wanted to fade away and loose yourself, about how you didn’t want to stand out, about how you’d do anything to have people stop staring, about how you felt like death but didn’t want to die, about how confused you were, because when you feel like this you’re supposed to want to die, but you don’t, you’re just so tired, tired of being reminded, tired of everything hurting, tired of living like you’re not living at all, like you’re not breathing, not experiencing emotions, like your world is just void, and you hate this heavy dark mass in your heart, how much you want to be anything else, to feel anything else, how you long for that feeling to feel something at all and all those people who say they wish they felt nothing don’t know what it’s like because it’s fucking hell to be incapable of responses, reactions, excitement, bliss, anything. You felt like you shattered more and more with every word as you told Cross things you didn’t even realize where true. 

Cross was silent as you spoke and cried, silent as you came off your frenzied high, as your sobs became softer, as you wiped your tears away and you lay there feeling empty, but not the heavy empty you were used to, but not light like you would fly away. Just empty, perhaps drained. Finally he broke the silence, speaking slowly and calmly to you.

“Allen, I can’t tell you how to feel or how to get better, but I can tell you to stop caring about what stupid teenager think and moping about things you can’t change. Mana is dead, that is true. What’s also true is that it is not your fault, no matter what you’ve convinced yourself to think. You can’t change that fact with guilt and you can’t live if all you do is carry a burden that is not yours. Mana would hate to see you like this.” He paused, as if he knew that last sentence was a punch to the gut, a punch you ultimately needed. 

“I’m not going to tell you people aren’t judging you, because there will always be at least one asshole who is, but they don’t matter. Do you go around examining and judging everyone you see? Neither does anyone else. Yes you stand out, but you can still control what people see when they look at you. It’s up to you what people see when they spot you in a crowd, and I think you already know this, you just forgot.” 

Your mind flashed back to the circus, the mask up and costumes everyone wore, the acts they performed, the eyes of a whole crowd drawn to you because of your appearance, but you controlled what they saw and thought about you. But that was a job, not your every day life… no, it was. At first it was your life, and nothing says you can’t do the same in high school, it’s close enough to a circus anyway. You could put on and change masks whenever you liked.

“And Allen, you’re no good to anyone dead. That includes yourself. Live. I can’t ask anything more of you.”

Maybe it was Cross’ words. Maybe it was walking up in the hospital. Or maybe it was your practical melt down cleansing your mind and letting you sort through everything, but which ever it was, two weeks later found you laying on your bed, telling yourself you can’t live like this anymore, that it was too exhausting to be sad all the time, you didn’t want to be a slave to depression, you wanted to smile again. You wanted to change. You wanted to live again.

Of course it wasn’t as simple as flipping a switch and suddenly everything was right in the world, you still had bad days, bad nights, a sinking feeling in your chest sometimes, and a handful of anxieties and insecurities, but over all, you felt… better. As if just making the choice to change was enough to force yourself to fall back to who you once were: someone who was happy. It almost made you laugh because that’s not how this is supposed to work, you’re not supposed to just decide to get better and then it just happens, but maybe nothing works the way it’s supposed to when you’re involved. 

Maybe it’s magic. Or maybe you’re cursed. But either way, you tilted your head up and learned how to walk with a bounce in your step, or at least you learned to not sink with every step and feel like crumbling into pieces seven times a day. You learned how to feel your heartbeat, or at least how to feel something that wasn’t an all enveloping void in your chest. You learned how to look into a mirror and smile, or at least how to make your eyes not look exhausted all the time. You learned how a song could fill your body and make you feel…everything - things you never experienced, things you only knew second hand, things you heard about but didn’t feel, you could feel them all and so much more in the rhythm of a song. 

Ten weeks before the end of sophomore year, Neah sent you an article on Art Therapy during your bi-weekly skype call, saying it was worth a read and might even prove to be quite useful. You did find it interesting, how people could use art as a way of moving forward. But your poetry and writing fell flat, your art attempts didn’t have the spark you wanted, and the other creative things you tried were enjoyable, but they didn’t make you feel like you thought you should. 

But music, that was different. Your fingers drummed over everything you touched, your head, shoulders, hips, everything swayed to the rhythm, you walked to the beat, moved your body to match the pace of the song. So when you think about it, dancing was only the natural course of action, letting the music carry you away. First you started out sloppily, just doing what felt right, and all things considered, you’ve never felt more alive than when you just let yourself go, let yourself run and leap and dance and jump on tables and spin in circles. It felt more than right. It felt like it was what you needed. 

You still dance like that, but you’ve also evolved into creating intricate choreography in your head, executing it to the best of your ability, except the ones you needed a partner for, because although it made you feel alive, you always danced alone. Couldn’t let people see you for who you really were, with all your emotions on display, now could you? Maybe one day, you told yourself, you wouldn’t mind dancing for someone, dancing with someone, showing them everything about you, but for now, you were content being free when no one was looking.

But now, you think you would like to dance with Lavi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But I lost myself when I lost you / But I still got jazz when I've got those blues / And I lost myself when I lost you / And I still get trashed, darling, when I hear your tunes  
> \- Terrence Loves You, Lana Del Rey
> 
> Sorry this update took a while, my overall inspiration has been low lately, and finals are a thing. I'm taking harder, more time consuming classes this term, but I'll do my best to put out another chapter soon, and hopefully one that's better than this. Sorry.
> 
> Regardless, I hope you like it, and I live for feedback, it really helps me want to keep writing, but I understand if you don't want to. Thank you for reading.


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